THE FLEDGLING II - TAKING FLIGHT
by SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: Four years ago, Sam was kidnapped by a child slavery ring. He escaped but it cost the life of his best friend. Now his kidnapper is back and Sam is determined to make the man pay. Tons of drama, angst and froth. You might want to read The Fledgling, Part One, before you read this. Hope you like it. EPILOGUE. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

"Looks like some garden variety serial killer," John said to his two sons. "Not our kind of job.

"We're leaving, then?" Dean asked eagerly, already bored with Fort Myers, Florida, though they'd been there less than two days. It was _hot_ and their motel was one of the few around too cheap to have a pool.

John nodded with satisfaction. "I talked to Bobby. He's got a Wendigo, or maybe a werewolf, up in northern Minnesota, killed a couple people last month. Full moon is in a couple days, so we'll head up there."

"Cool!" Pleased, Dean grinned at his younger brother, then looked quickly away, hoping his father wouldn't notice Sam's unhappy face.

Not looking at his father, the youngest Winchester rose silently from his seat at the table and went into the bathroom, emerging a couple seconds later with his hands full of toiletries. He started stuffing them into his duffel bag with sharp, abrupt movements.

John's sharp eyes fastened on his younger boy's face. "You have something to say, Sam?"

Sam's voice was carefully neutral. "No, sir." Head lowered, dark shaggy hair hanging down into his face, he gathered up his sleep clothes and packed them as well.

"Good." John kept his gaze on Sam for a minute more, then looked over at Dean. "You two go fuel up the Impala. And pick up some road food while you're at it."

"Yes, sir," Dean said immediately.

"I'll pack up the rest of our stuff," John continued, his mind back on business, already miles down the highway. "We'll hit the road as soon as you get back."

"Yes, sir." With an obedient nod to his father, Dean gathered up his silent brother and the two boys left their father packing up his gear.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

On the drive to the gas station, Dean countered Sam's brooding silence by turning up the radio as far it would go.

When that got no result, he tried warbling along with the music, purposely singing as horrifically off-key as he could and watching his brother out of the corner of his eye for a reaction.

Nothing.

_Hell_.

With a resigned sigh, Dean turned off the radio. "Okay, sunshine, what crawled up your ass and died?"

Sam shot him a dark glance, but said nothing.

Dean reached over, shoved him a little. "Come on, where's my grouchy little brother? How am I gonna survive without my daily dose of bitchy Sammy?" He dug his fingers into Sam's side. "_Helloooo_! Anybody in there?"

Sam scowled and knocked his hand away. "Knock it off, you asshole!"

"Aha, he lives!" Dean crowed in triumph. "Knew I could get you to talk!"

Sam glared daggers at him. "Why can't you just leave me the hell alone? Just because _you_ got laid last night doesn't mean everyone else has to be in a good mood!"

Dean gave a shout of laughter and Sam's lips twisted in an unwilling smile.

"Ha!" Dean shoved him again. "I saw that! Come on, tell me what's wrong."

Sam's smile dropped away and Dean groaned. "Come _on_!"

"I can't believe you're even asking me that!" Sam said angrily. "Jesus, Dean!"

"What? Dude, I'm not psychic. Spill!"

Sam growled something indistinct.

Dean put a hand behind his ear and leaned over to the side a bit. "Eh? What's that?"

"I said, 'what's the point, you guys never listen anyway'." Sam repeated, loud and clear. "So '_fuck_ it!'"

"Whoa, language!" Dean said, a little startled. His little brother didn't usually toss the F-bomb around. "Dad would kick your ass if he heard you."

"So what?" Sam's grin at Dean was challenging. "So_ - _fucking_ - what_! Let's just move on. _Again_!"

"Hold on." Dean's brow furrowed. "This is because we're leaving town?"

"Whoa, got it in one!" Sam said sarcastically.

"You knew we wouldn't be here long." Dean was starting to get a little ticked. "What's the big deal? And why the hell are you mad at _me_?"

"Because you're just like him!" Sam glared at him. "You two drag me around like I'm some piece of damned luggage!" He huffed out an angry breath. "Neither of you give a _damn_ how screwed up my life is!"

Suddenly and absolutely done with his brother's tantrum, Dean jerked the Impala over to the side of the busy road. "That's _enough, _damn it!"

"The hell it is!" Sam shouted back. "I've been in six schools so far this year and it's only December!" He slammed a hand down on the dashboard. "Six!"

Dean faltered slightly at that fact, then shoved it aside and pushed forward. "Moving around, changing schools, that's just the way it is. People depend on us. Sacrifices have to be made."

"Why does it have to be _us_?" Sam protested, the familiar taste of frustration bitter in his mouth.

"You know why!" Dean bit out. "You _know_."

Sam did know. And lost it.

"It's not fair! Just because Mom's dead doesn't mean we have to die, too!"

Dean gasped and abruptly all the air got sucked out of the Impala. The two stared at each other, both horror-struck at Sam's words.

"Sam, you - " Dean swallowed hard, fought for control against the flood of searing memories. "You _bastard_." He faced forward again, both hands tight on the wheel.

"Dean, I didn't mean it," Sam said, helpless in the face of his brother's grief. "I'm _sorry_."

"Shut it." Taking a shaky breath, Dean pulled the car back out into the flow of traffic.

The rest of the short drive was deathly silent.

Spotting a gas station/convenience store, Dean pulled in and stopped in front of one of the pumps. Without looking at his younger brother, he said flatly, "I'll get the supplies. You pump."

"Dean, wait –"

Dean ignored him, getting out quickly and slamming the door of the Impala behind him.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Browsing through the jumble of miscellaneous crap inside the convenience store, Dean gathered together an assortment of chips, sandwiches, soda and beer. Minnesota was a hell of a long drive – more than twenty hours – and he knew his dad was going to want to drive all the way through with the full moon being so close.

Road food. Huh. What Dad meant was get enough junk food to keep us going 'cause we're not stopping for _anything_. Except for gas, it'd be strictly cross your legs time.

Which also meant he had to make sure Sam took care of business before they left. Damned kid, always had to stop ten miles into every road trip to pee.

Dean glanced out front to where he could see that Sam had finished gassing up the Impala and was now leaning morosely against her.

Damned kid . . .

Underneath Dean's hurt and bitter anger, he knew that Sam had a valid complaint, but that didn't make his younger brother's crack about their mother's death any easier to take.

Sure, all this travelling around was hard on his brother. Hell, it was hard on all of them! But what they were doing was important. Getting revenge on whatever killed Mom was _important_. Why didn't Sam get that? Dean chewed his lip unhappily.

Sam was right. It _wasn't_ fair. None of it. They should all be back in Lawrence. Dad and Mom together. Him doing who the hell knows what. College maybe. Sam in high school, getting straight A's and losing his virginity like every other normal, brainiac teenager.

Like Sam said. Not fair. But that didn't give the kid a license to be a dick. That dream life was never gonna happen. The sooner his kid brother accepted it, the better off they'd all be. In the meantime, Dean was going to make sure their dad never found out what Sam had said. No need for the hellfire _that_ was sure to start burning.

Grabbing a package of powdered doughnuts to top off his stack of heart disease, Dean made his way back to the front of the small store.

At the register, the cashier, a buxom brunette, raised a shapely eyebrow as she started to ring up his purchases. "Road trip?"

Dean rested an elbow on the counter and grinned engagingly, running an appreciative eye over her curvaceous figure. "Yeah, heading out today." He checked out her name tag. "_Sandy_."

"Too bad." She fluttered long, thickly-mascaraed eyelashes at him and leaned over, ample bosom spilling generously out of the top of her blouse. "It's a fun town, if you have someone to show you around.

He ramped up the voltage of his smile. "Well, you never know, we might be back some day. Maybe I'll look you up."

Sandy smiled. "And maybe I'll show you around." She finished ringing him up. "That'll be $23.48." She took his proffered credit card, then glanced past him out the front window. Her brown eyes widened with astonishment. "Hey!"

There was a loud squeal of brakes and a blaring of horns. Startled, Dean swung around and looked outside to see Sam standing in the middle of the street, cars swerving and careening frantically around him.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Getting back on the horse, here. I've had this sequel rough drafted for a couple of months and it's decided it wants to move to the front. I'm also working on the next chapter for My Boys (having to start it over since my last laptop died and took the chapter with it). Will still be working on my crossover and word prompts, but the main focus will be on this and MB. Thanks for all your patience. Hope you all like this. Let me know. :)


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a particularly rough week, um, I mean busy week in RL. I'm really sorry I haven't had time to answer all my lovely reviews from chapter one. Hope you understand. I want you to know that I very much, and sincerely, appreciate all of them.

Also wanted to warn all of you that there's a new idiot on the horizon. Someone by the name of ladygodess27 who is posting abusive and foul-language "reviews". I'm sure some of you have already run into this semi-literate ass. Please ignore them. I've already blocked her, so I don't have to read her ill-spelt idiocy. Suggest you do the same.

Hope you all like chapter two - let me know, if you can!

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam couldn't feel his feet.

He could see them. They were moving, walking, carrying him into the street, but he couldn't _feel_ them.

And, somehow, not being able to feel his feet was affecting his ears, too. The sounds of the city, so loud only moments before, had faded away to a soft murmur, and a soft grey fuzz crowded the edges of his telescoping vision.

Even the blaring horn coming at him was no more than a muted counterpoint to the imperative that he had to keep moving, had to get across the street, had to get to _Him_.

"Sam!"

Sam gave a surprised cry as rough hands grabbed the back of his jacket and tugged him backward, out of the path of a car full of shrieking teenagers.

Heart pounding frantically at the near miss, Dean pulled his unresisting brother out of the street and back onto the sidewalk, a volley of shrieks and rude gestures following them as the teens sped on down the street.

"What the hell, Sam! You trying to get yourself killed?"

Sam didn't even look at him, _all_ of his attention focused across the busy street.

Dean followed his gaze. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just the front of an older, somewhat shabby brick hotel, and a big, burly man helping an elderly woman out of a car and into a wheelchair.

Irritated, he gave Sam a little shake, trying to get his attention. "What is it?"

Sam stared back at Dean, not seeming to see him at all, then shook his head in an uneven little spasm. He took an unsteady step back into the street.

With an exclamation of surprise, Dean grabbed him again and jerked him back onto the sidewalk. Sam stumbled and nearly went to his knees before Dean caught him around the waist and pulled him back up. "Shit, Sammy, you okay?"

Legs feeling like jelly, Sam pushed at his brother, trying to get away, but his limbs felt hollow and disconnected, his mind fuzzy. "Dean, leggo, I gotta . . . "

"Sam, look at me!" Dean put a hand on Sam's cheek and looked into his eyes, trying to get him to focus. "What's going on, man?"

Sam looked across the street, where _He_ was pushing the woman's wheelchair into the front door of the hotel. As the man disappeared, Sam panicked. He managed to pull away from Dean and this time he did go down to his knees.

Dean cursed. "Screw this!"

Time to get his brother off the street before some well-meaning cit called the cops or paramedics. He pulled a badly shaking Sam up and wrestled him toward the car, the younger boy's long legs tripping and dragging on the ground.

At the car, he held Sam up against the side of the Impala while he fumbled the door open, then stuffed him inside and strapped him into the passenger seat.

"He okay?"

Startled, Dean spun around.

Sandy, her eyes dark with concern, was standing behind him, Dean's credit card in one hand and his bagged groceries in the other. "You need me to call an ambulance?"

"No. Thanks." Dean hurriedly tossed the groceries in the back seat and slipped the card into his back pocket. "He's okay, just not feeling good. I'm gonna take him home."

Looking into the car at Sam, Sandy said doubtfully, "He looks bad. You sure?"

"I'm sure," Dean replied, trying not to snap at her. He moved around and got into the car.

Hands on hips, Sandy watched as the Impala peeled out of the parking lot; then, with a philosophical shrug, went back into the store.

Keeping one eye on his brother and one on the road, Dean heard Sam mumble something indistinct. He leaned over slightly. "Sam, what?"

"Mitch," Sam finally looked at him, eyes haunted and impossibly old. "Dean, it was _Mitch_."

"Who?" For a long moment, Dean had no freaking clue who Sam was talking about. Then it clicked and he turned almost as white as his brother.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed. "Son of a _bitch_!" He started to step on the brake, wanting to go back and find the bastard, hell, _kill_ the bastard, but when he looked back at Sam, the teen was listing to the side, eyes starting to flutter closed.

"Sam!"

Dean shook Sam's shoulder until he opened his eyes and looked back at him. "Come on, kid, stay with me! We'll take care of that prick, I promise, but try to get it together, okay?"

Sam nodded blearily. "Okay. Okay. Sorry."

Dean hesitated, then said tentatively. "You're sure? It was him?"

Sam nodded. A tear escaped and he scrubbed a clumsy hand across his cheek. "It was him."

"Son of a bitch." Dean's tone was vicious.

Mouth trembling, Sam fumbled at his seat belt, but his hands were stiff and uncoordinated. "We gotta go back."

"Forget it." Dean pushed his brother's hands away from the belt.

"Dean, please," Sam said desperately. "He'll get away. Joey . . ." At that long unspoken name, Sam's voice caught in his throat. He sank back against the seat, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "_Joey_."

"Hang in there, Sammy." Face grim, heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain and grief, Dean gunned the Impala. "We're gonna go get Dad."

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

John heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala. He came out of the motel room just in time to see Dean skyrocket into the parking lot, narrowly miss another car, and screech to a halt in the space beside John's truck.

"Dean!" Fuming, John slammed the door and stormed over to the Impala, where Dean was scrambling out of the car.

"You want to tell me what the hell you think you're doing?"

"Dad, it's Sam!"

At the panic in Dean's face, John moved quickly to the passenger side and opened the door, Dean rushing around the car to crowd in close behind him.

"Sam?"

Sam didn't look at his father. He was clutching his arms tightly 'round himself and trembling violently, chin tipped forward onto his chest.

Restraining the impatience he usually felt with his youngest son, John leaned into the car and looked searchingly into Sam's pallid face.

What he saw had him turning quickly back to Dean. "What happened?"

"Is he okay?" Nearly frantic, Dean stared into the car at his brother.

John turned back to Sam. He tilted the boy's face toward him and looked into the blank eyes; checked his wrist and found a racing pulse.

"He's in shock," John said tersely. "Give me a hand."

Together they managed to get Sam out of the car. Once he was on his feet, Sam roused a little and looked around in confusion. "Dean?"

"You okay, Sam?"

Sam's eyes focused on his father's face. With a gasp of relief, he grabbed John's arm. "Dad!"

John saw the motel manager watching from the doorway of his office, along with a couple of guests. He took Sam's arm, motioned to Dean to take the other. "Let's go inside."

"No!" Sam turned urgently to Dean. "Tell him, we have to go back! We have to catch him. He has to pay for what he did, I promised Joey!" His voice was rising, sharp and shrill; his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Uneasily aware of the curious eyes on them, John took Sam's arm in his hand and propelled him inside, ignoring his continued protests. Dean followed close behind.

Once inside, John sat Sam down on the bed. He pulled a blanket around the boy's trembling shoulders and told Dean to get some water.

When Dean came out of the bathroom with a glass of water, he saw his father shake out three pills from a bottle into his hand. He held the pills out to Sam. "Swallow these, son."

"Dad, I'm okay," Sam said weakly. "Please, you have to listen, it was Mitch, we have to – " He halted, looking a little green, and raised a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, _crap_," Dean grabbed up the waste basket and shoved it onto Sam's lap. "Here ya go, kiddo."

Holding the basket in both arms, Sam slumped over it, breathing heavily. After a minute or so, he pushed it away. "It's okay," he said thickly. "I'm okay."

Face tight, John held out the pills again. "Come on."

Sam drew in a shaking breath. "Dad, I don't – "

"Take the pills, Sam," John said firmly. "We'll talk later."

Exhausted, Sam reluctantly accepted the pills. He had to try a few times before he managed to get them all into his mouth.

John held the glass of water to his son's lips and watched him swallow the sedatives down, teeth chattering against the glass. Then he gently manhandled Sam down onto the bed, stretching him out and tucking him under the thin blanket, and snagging another one from the other bed.

The drugs worked quickly.

Within a couple of minutes, Sam's trembling had stopped and he was blinking sleepily. "Dad," he mumbled. "Mitch . . ." He yawned and his eyes finally closed in sleep.

Smoothing back a lock of straggly hair from Sam's sweat-soaked face, John looked up at Dean. "What the hell happened?" he said harshly. "Who's Mitch?"

Dean flushed guiltily. "Dad . . . "

"_What - Happened_?"

"Dad, Evanston. _Mitch_."

John's brow furrowed in confusion, then understanding flooded his face. "Hell." He looked back down at Sam.

Dean nodded, looking expectantly at his father. He felt a little better, now that John knew. They'd take care of this bastard, make him _pay_ for what he'd done to Sam. Nobody messed with a Winchester. _Nobody_. Especially not his little brother! He grinned to himself in satisfaction. That rat-fucking kidnapper was _dead_. He just didn't know it yet.

John's next words were completely unexpected.

"Take your stuff out to the car. We're leaving."

"What?" Dean's mouth dropped open in stunned surprise.

"It's better if we're away from here when he wakes up," John said flatly, standing up from the bed.

"But Dad, this guy kidnapped Sam! He would've -" Dean glanced apprehensively at Sam and lowered his voice. "You _know_ what he would've done if Sam hadn't managed to get away. We can't go anywhere until we take care of that bastard!"

John took Dean's arm and propelled him into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind them.

"Dean, what do you think the odds are of Sam running into this guy? After four years? And in a different state?"

"What the hell, Dad!" Dean cried, outraged. "Sam wouldn't lie about something like this!"

John held on to his temper. "I'm not saying he's lying. I'm saying he's wrong."

"So it's just a coincidence that kids are disappearing here the same way they did in Evanston, and Sam sees this guy here?" Dean's tone was disbelieving.

"Dean, if we'd been able to get our hands on that bastard four years ago, he'd have been a dead man. But this is old news –"

"Old _news_!" Dean was aghast.

"Damn it, Dean, people are dying! What's happening here, it's not our job, even if it was the same guy, which it's not. Are we supposed to let people die while we hash something out that Sam got over four years ago?"

Dean threw the bathroom door open and paced over to the bed, pointing to his brother's unconscious form. "Does this look like Sam got over it?" he hissed angrily.

John didn't look at his youngest. "No more." He stared at Dean, eyes cold and hard, willing him to obey. "Get your crap in the car. We're leaving. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

The look of disbelieving shock and betrayal in Dean's eyes ran on permanent replay through John's head. He forced it back, tried to keep his eyes on the road, his mind on the job ahead of them.

It didn't work, not for long

_Damn_ it.

Sam had to be wrong. He had to be.

The odds that Sam and the man who'd kidnapped him would run into each other four years later were astronomical.

The asshole – Mitch? – was probably dead. Or in prison. _Not_ vacationing in Florida.

It was simple. Sam had seen some random guy who just reminded him of the prick.

Truth was, they didn't have time for it to be anything else. Didn't have time to drag ass back to Fort Myers and scour the town for someone who was probably nowhere near Evanston, Illinois four years ago.

The people in the Minnesota small town currently being decimated by the monster of the week – _they_ didn't have the time.

John brooded for a few more miles.

Sam. Earlier today. So white and broken. Begging his father to find this guy, to make things right.

Sam. Four years ago. A broken twelve-year-old, carrying the pain and grief of a friend's death, young heart consumed with guilt.

Guilt that rested squarely, and rightly, on the shoulders of John Winchester.

If John hadn't left his boys alone. If he'd given them a real home, a real father.

If so many things.

The unspoken words in Sam's eyes, in Dean's, ate at him.

You _promised_, Dad!

"I promised," he murmured.

I swore on the grave of Sam's mother.

Mary. God, Mary. Our son!

Angry tears burned behind his eyes. He stubbornly refused to let them fall.

He _wanted_ to find the son of a bitch who'd stolen his child. He wanted to rip his heart out and feed it to him! He wanted to give that murdering bastard's death to Sam.

He wanted that broken look out of his son's eyes.

The truck lurched and John realized that he'd moved beyond driving a little too fast for the wet road all the way up to crazy bastard fast, and the Impala was starting to fall behind.

Taking a shaky breath, he let up on the accelerator and his speed dropped down to somewhere still fast, but a little more sane.

Fine.

Enough. Just – _enough_.

Wrong or not, they'd go back to Fort Myers after they finished the hunt in Minnesota.

They'd find that guy, show Sam that it wasn't Mitch.

John would take care of this.

He'd promised.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

They stopped for gas at a mostly deserted North Carolina truck stop a couple of hours later.

The farther north it got, the quicker the temperature dropped and the rain that had been coming down steadily for the last few hundred miles was now freezing cold.

John gassed up the truck and went inside the store to get coffee and use the bathroom. When Dean finished topping up the Impala, he peeked into the back seat at Sam, who was still sleeping.

He hesitated, loathe to leave his brother alone, but damn it, he had to _pee_, and a cup of coffee wouldn't hurt, either.

Dean ran into the restaurant and past the register, where John was paying for a couple cups of take-out coffee.

Taking care of business as quickly as he could, he hurried back out into the restaurant, where John was waiting for him at the door, holding onto a stale-looking doughnut in one hand and two coffees in the other.

Yawning, John shoved one of the coffees at Dean. "Sam still sleeping?"

Dean took a grateful sip. "Yeah. Hasn't even twitched." He didn't mention the fact that John had given his brother _three_ sleeping pills, where normally even one would do the trick. They'd be lucky if the kid woke up before morning.

"Good." John decimated the doughnut in two bites. "Best thing for him," he mumbled.

There was a lot of things Dean could have said about that, but now wasn't the time. He settled for a noncommittal shrug and the two plunged back out into the rain.

As he approached the Impala, Dean saw with dismay that the back door was hanging open and the back seat was empty, except for the blanket and Sam's shoes.

"Shit!" Dean looked around frantically for his missing brother. Sam was nowhere in sight. "_Shit_! Dad!"

John, already in his truck, opened his window and looked over inquiringly.

"Sam's gone!"

John jumped out of the truck. "I thought you said he was sleeping!"

"He _was_," Dean snapped defensively.

The two jogged around the parking lot, looking around and underneath the few long haul trucks that had parked there for the night.

They veered toward the road and suddenly there was Sam, a tall, skinny figure appearing in the headlights of a passing vehicle. No coat, no hat, no freaking _shoes_, walking down the side of the highway in the direction they'd just come from.

"Sam!"

Dean ran like hell for his brother, John cursing a blue streak right behind him.

Sam didn't turn in answer to Dean's shout, just kept walking steadily down the road. He wasn't really in the middle of the road, but he wasn't too far over to the side either and a couple of vehicles had to swerve around a little to be sure of missing him.

Dean reached Sam well before John, having easily outpaced the older man. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and pulled him farther off to the side, out of danger.

"Damn it, I'm getting tired of pulling your ass out of the street, Sam!" His voice was harsh with anger, strengthened by fear.

Sam blinked at him slowly, rain running down his face.

"Sam?"

Blink.

Dean peered into his brother's eyes. When John came panting up to them, Dean said uncertainly, "Dad, I don't think he's even awake."

John shook the water out of his eyes and looked at Sam.

Sam looked back at him placidly. There was nothing in his eyes, no expression in his face at all.

"You gave him too many pills," Dean said accusingly. "You know he's always been a lightweight with that crap!"

John tossed Dean a hard look. "Take your brother back to the car. Get him into some dry clothes and let him sleep the rest of it off." He turned and walked away, shoulders hunched under the cold rain.

Cursing quietly under his breath, Dean gingerly put an arm around Sam's shoulders and started walking the unresisting boy back to the car, trying to watch out for broken glass.

Grabbing a couple of almost clean towels out of the Impala's trunk, Dean put him carefully back into the back seat and, after stripping the boy down to his boxers, rubbed him down and got him into dry sweats and a thick sweater.

Halfway through this operation, Sam closed his eyes and lay back down on the seat. He was now sleeping peacefully, snuffling little snores escaping him.

Mouth curving in an affectionate grin, Dean covered him with a couple of blankets. "Not catching cold on my watch, kiddo."

Contentedly watching Sam breathe, he said softly, "You scared the crap out of me,"

Didn't matter if Sam was sleeping. He had to say it, get it out of his system. Best to say it now, while Sam was passed out. There'd be plenty of other stuff happening later on. Sleepwalking was pretty much the least of the drama for now.

Sam settled in and safe, Dean carefully locked the back doors and then climbed into the front seat.

He was exhausted, cold and wet, and his freaking coffee had disappeared, no clue where.

Minnesota was looking a hell of a long way away.

A sudden knocking on the window next to him had him jumping, startled.

John peered in at him, motioning at him to roll the window down.

When Dean did, his father said abruptly, "Sam's in no shape to go on a hunt. I want you to take him to Blue Earth."

"Pastor Jim's?" Dean stared at his father in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going on to the job. It's just a few hours away from Jim's."

Dean shook his head emphatically. "Dad, no, you can't go alone. Whatever it is, it's too much for one man. Let's both go to Jim's. We can drop Sammy off and then you and me can go on together."

"I called Caleb, Dean. He's meeting me there." John sighed and looked past Dean into the back seat. "I don't think Sam should be alone right now."

"But Jim – "

"Jim's a good friend, but he's not family," John replied firmly. "Sam needs you right now."

"Dad, I don't know . . . "

"Son . . . " John ran a hand over his head, pushed the thick, wet hair out of his eyes. "I know you're not thrilled with the way we left things in Fort Myers. Tell the truth, I'm not either."

Dean's eyes were intent on his father's face.

"I still don't think whoever Sam saw back there is the man who took him in Evansville." John paused, then went on reluctantly. "But after me and Caleb finish up, I'll come get you two and we'll go back, get this settled, one way or the other."

"I can tell Sam we're going back?" Dean hesitated, not wanting a blow-up at the implication that John might not follow through. "For sure?"

At his father's nod, relief coursed through him. "Thanks, Dad."

John nodded. "I called Jim, told him you two are coming." He patted Dean's arm, a little awkwardly. "Take care of your brother. I'll see you in a few days."

Dean nodded and watched his father trudge, head down, back to his truck. After a minute, with a farewell double toot of his horn John pulled back out onto the road, and disappeared into the night.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

After John disappeared, Dean went back inside the restaurant and grabbed another big cup of coffee, keeping a sharp eye on the Impala while he was inside.

Once he was back on the road and had half the container of coffee in him, he started to get his second wind and was feeling a lot more cheerful about the situation.

True, he didn't much like not being there for his Dad on the hunt, but Caleb was a good hunter, he'd watch John's back and be at Jim's in no time.

The fugly, whatever the hell it was, taken care of, they'd go back to Florida and take care of this Mitch thing. Like Dad said, one way or the other. After that, maybe they'd even stay a couple days. He could go back to that store, hit on that clerk. She was hot and he could tell the feeling was mutual. He grinned, eyes alight in anticipation.

"Dean?"

Sam's groggy voice had him jerking around to look into the back seat, the Impala swerving a bit before he straightened her out. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam, voice rough with sleep, struggled to sit up under the weight of the blankets. "What - " The question was cut off by a tremendous yawn.

"You okay?"

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "What happened?"

"You freaked out, dude." Dean kept an eye on his brother in the rearview mirror. "Dad had to, uh, he kinda had to dope you up."

"What? Why would I – " Sam stopped, vaguely remembering seeing a man across the street, thinking he looked just like . . .

Not much after that. Vague impressions of Dean putting him back in the car. The drive back to the motel. Dad.

Sam shivered, pulling his coat closer around him, fighting back another yawn. "Where are we going?"

"Pastor Jim's."

Sam muddled through that information for a minute, then, "Did Dad – "

Dean shook his head. "He went to join up with Caleb, finish up the hunt."

"Oh."

Dean saw the implications of that answer hit Sam through the haze of the younger boy's exhaustion and said hastily, "When he comes back, we're going back to Fort Myers."

Silence.

"You hungry, Sammy? Thirsty?"

Sam shook his head, staring vacantly ahead.

"You okay?"

No answer.

Dean drove on for a couple more miles to the sound of heavy silence from the back seat. Finally, unable to deal with the craziness going on in his own head, he burst out, "We'll be at Pastor Jim's in just a couple hours. Be good to see him, huh?"

"Dad's just really worried about those killings," he rattled on nervously. "After he and Caleb are finished up there, he'll come pick us up from Jim's and we'll go back to Fort Myers. If it is Mitch, we'll take care of him."

When he still didn't get an answer, Dean looked into the back and saw that Sam had laid back down again. His eyes were closed. No way to tell if he were asleep, or just avoiding talking.

Just in case, Dean repeated, "It's okay, Sammy. Dad promised." After a minute, he added quietly, "I promise, too."

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

I KNOW! I had it all set for John to be a son of a bitch, then he turned human on me! The nerve! Hope you like this. Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Pastor Jim Murphy hid an amused smile as he ushered the members of the Ladies Aid Society out of his house.

Twice as many had shown up today as normally did and _most_ of the new attendees were teenaged girls accompanying their mothers.

Jim wasn't foolish enough to believe that they'd decided to save their souls by spending their time doing community work for the church. Teens tended to save that kind of thing for the holidays.

No, he was pretty sure that most, if not all, of the younger congregation members had shown up to check out Sam and Dean. The two Winchesters - young, handsome, mysterious outsiders - were apparently a big draw in Blue Ash.

Not that the girls had been able to spend much time with the boys. Looking a little trapped, Sam had given them a stiff smile, then grabbed his older brother by the arm and dragged him out of the house, leaving a lot of disappointed young ladies behind.

Dean had looked pretty disappointed, too.

Enjoying the respite of the temporarily silent house, Jim went to the kitchen to start dinner. Taking a large roasting hen out of the refrigerator, he massaged it with olive oil and a light dusting of lemon pepper, then popped it into a pan with half a dozen large potatoes and a dozen peeled cloves of garlic.

It looked like a lot of food to him; he was usually on his own. But Jim knew how young men ate, especially these two, and he knew that they didn't get much home cooking on the road with their father. He liked to fill them up whenever he got the chance.

Jim put the roasting pan into the oven. As he turned it on and set the timer, he heard the front door open and the sound of voices in the hall.

"I'm in the kitchen, boys!"

"Alone?" Dean sounded wary.

Jim chuckled. "You're safe!"

Dean peeked in before he entered, just to be sure. "Sorry we ran out on you."

The pastor laughed. "Sam did look a little spooked. I was surprised _you_ didn't stick around, though."

Dean shrugged, not wanting to say that he hadn't wanted to leave Sam on his own.

"Next time, maybe." He thought back to the gaggle of giggling girls and his lips curved in a slow smile. There'd been a pretty little blonde hiding behind her mama. Maybe _she'd_ like to come out and play sometime . . .

Rolling his eyes, Jim reached out and smacked him on the back of the head.

Dean smirked and shrugged. "No worries. Dad would kick my butt if I, uh, trespassed on one of your parish."

Jim smothered a laugh. "Where's your brother?"

Dean's face darkened a little. "He went upstairs."

"He okay?"

Dean shrugged, looking frustrated. "I guess." He looked away from Jim's searching eyes. Truth was, he didn't have a clue how Sam was. His little brother wasn't talking.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "He's pretty upset with John," he said tentatively.

Dean's lips thinned. "It's been more than a week."

"You can't tell going in how long a hunt is going to take, son."

"Yeah. It's just – it's not like Dad ever bothers to freaking call us, let us know what's going on. But you'd think, this _one_ time, he could make an effort."

"It's been hard on you boys."

Dean shook his head dismissively. "I'm good." He hooked a foot around a chair and flopped down at the table, glowering at his feet. "Sam's busy pretending nothing's wrong, but I _know_ he's going nuts."

Jim took a bag of green beans out of the fridge and sat down across from Dean. "You know, he's been spending a lot of time on my computer."

"If you're not cool with that – "

Jim waved that away impatiently. "He's spending a lot of time doing searches for recently missing children in the deep south. It seems there have been no more disappearances reported in Fort Myers since you left there."

Dean thought that over. "So he's thinking Mitch – if it was him – has moved on."

Jim nodded. "And Sam's found a new rash of disappearances in Savannah."

Dean was hurt that Sam hadn't come to him. "He _told_ you all this?"

"I went back through his browser history. I do have my computer skills, as ancient as I am," he said modestly. "Of course, most of them, Sam taught me."

Dean drummed his fingers on the table. "I wonder what kind of time frame we're looking at before the douchebag leaves Savannah."

Sam came into the kitchen. "About three more weeks." The boy went to the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk. As Jim and Dean watched him, Sam poured a glass of milk and drank thirstily.

"The disappearances in Fort Myers stretched out over four weeks," he went on, licking the foam off his upper lip. "Four boys and a girl. They ended a couple days after we left and started up this week in Savannah." He put the milk back in the fridge and sat down beside Dean.

"So far two kids have gone missing, both boys. The cops haven't connected them to each other or to the ones in Florida. Yet."

"When Dad gets back – " Dean started.

"Yeah, I know," Sam interrupted Dean carelessly. He sniffed the air. "Lemon pepper?"

"Dinner's in about an hour." Jim, not fooled by Sam's casual manner, didn't press it. "Lemon pepper chicken, potatoes, green beans. And, speaking of beans - " He pushed them over to Dean. "Snap away."

Dean looked hopefully at Jim. "Does that mean Sam does clean-up by himself tonight?"

"No," Jim and Sam said together.

"Good try, though." Jim patted Dean's shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get a little work done before dinner on Sunday's sermon. The ladies put me a little behind schedule."

As Jim left the kitchen, Dean sighed and stared piteously at the large mound of green beans.

Rolling his eyes, Sam pulled the bag over and dumped them out on the table. "You're such a freaking baby."

"Yeah, but you're snapping the beans," Dean pointed out, grinning.

Sam shrugged.

After some big brother gloating, Dean took back half of the beans and started snapping. "So, Savannah, huh?" he ventured.

Sam darted a quick look at him. "Yeah."

"And you think we've got maybe three weeks before he moves on again?"

"Probably."

"That gives us some time. Savannah's less than a day's drive from here. Once Dad gets here, we can head on over there, check it out."

Sam snapped a bean and threw it into the pot, hard. "What if he takes too long? What if they've already moved on by the time he gets here?"

"Then we pick them up again," Dean said confidently. "How hard could it be? You found them before, you can do it again. And no one's better than Dad at tracking."

Sam's temper flared at Dean's easy confidence in their father. "What if they don't start taking kids again when they leave Savannah? What if they stop? How are we supposed to find them after that?"

The beans were finished. Sam jumped to his feet and dumped them into the pot. He covered them with water and a lid, then put it on top of the stove and turned on the burner.

Temper rising with the flame, he turned to face his older brother.

"Dad could've found someone else to take care of his hunt. Hell, _Jim_ would've gone with Caleb. All Dad had to do was ask." Sam clenched his fists. "He's gonna screw around until it's too late and then it'll be 'Oh sorry, Sam, don't worry, we'll find him later!'"

"Mitch" – the name was spoken with intense venom – "will be gone and another group of kids will be gone. Kids, Dean! Kids like me. Kids like Joey." Sam's voice faltered at that last word.

"Dad will be here soon," Dean said, stubborn. "He promised."

Sam's laugh was bitter. "Yeah, well, we both know how much _that's_ worth."

There was a short silence, then, "I promised, too," Dean reminded him quietly.

There were a lot of hurtful things Sam wanted to say. He bit his tongue and managed not to say any of them. "I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner." His voice was back to its earlier calm. "Can you watch the beans? I'll take care of clean-up after dinner."

Dean didn't want to let it go. He wanted to convince Sam that it would be all right; that Dad would be back soon and they would take care of this once and for all.

Trouble was, he wasn't sure he believed that himself, so how was he supposed to convince his brother?

Reluctantly, he acquiesced. "Sure, Sam."

"Thanks!" Sam walked quickly out of the kitchen, almost running into Jim at the doorway. With a muttered apology, he slipped by the clergyman and headed upstairs.

With a sympathetic look, Jim sat down across from Dean. "Hard thing, trying to help someone who doesn't want it."

Dean scowled. "Doesn't matter if he doesn't want it, he's got it. Stubborn little shit!" He caught his tongue a little too late and rolled his eyes in an apology.

Jim laughed in honest amusement. "Well, at least he came by it honest!"

After a few seconds of trying to stay mad, Dean gave the older man a smile. "God, he's a pain in the butt."

Jim nodded. "Aren't we all," he said ruefully.

Dean winked at him playfully. "_Me_? I'm a joy to be around. Everyone loves me!" He winked. "Especially the ladies. But don't worry, Jim. Like I said, my dad would kick my _butt_ if I hooked up with anyone from Blue Ash."

"So, no fathers with shotguns will be showing up at my front door?"

Dean shuddered. "God, no!" He shifted his feet a little. "Listen, how long before dinner?"

Jim checked the timer. "About 45 minutes."

"Can I use your laptop?"

Jim gave him a sharp look, but nodded and watched as Dean left the kitchen.

In the library, Dean sat down at Jim's desk and booted up the laptop. When he had the internet up, he flipped over to Google and typed in Savannah, Georgia and missing children. Then he let the search engine fly.

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

Sam seemed a little more relaxed at dinner.

Dean kept things light. He didn't bring up their father. Or Florida. Or Georgia. He teased Jim about the ladies auxiliary. Asked him if he had any favorites and did he think any of them were angling for a position as Mrs. Pastor Jim.

Jim blushed and Dean crowed with triumph. Sam joined in, face alight with laughter for the first time in days.

When the house phone rang, Jim, face still red, but chuckling, got up from the table to answer it. The smile left his face when he heard the voice on the other end and he looked quickly at the boys.

"John, hello."

Dean jumped up eagerly and went to stand next to Jim so he could hear the conversation.

Sam, tension instantly snapping through him, watched long enough to see disappointment fill Dean's face, then he got up and started to clear the table.

Sam had carried the dishes to the counter and was starting to fill the sink with hot, soapy water when Jim hung up the phone.

Sam didn't turn, focusing on the steam rising from the water and the white, foamy bubbles. "How much longer?" he said, voice carefully expressionless.

"Two or three weeks," Dean said reluctantly.

"They know it's a werewolf," Jim put in, "but they haven't been able to pin down the identity. The next full moon –"

"Isn't for another two weeks," Sam interrupted. "I know. Thanks, Jim." He dumped the greasy plates into the hot water. "Listen, I've got this. Why don't you guys go watch some T.V. or something. I won't be long."

"I'll help, Sammy." Dean picked up some dishes and brought them over to the counter.

Quick as a snake, Sam whipped around to face him. "_No_."

The two brothers faced each other for a tense moment, then Jim placed a light hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I could use some help in the library."

Sam held Dean's eyes, then turned back to the sink. Picking up a dishcloth, he started on the dishes, working with short, jerky movements.

Huffing out an angry, frustrated breath, Dean pulled away from Jim and stomped out of the kitchen.

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

The house was dark and quiet. Sleeping.

Heart in his throat, Sam crept downstairs, backpack in one hand and shoes in the other. At the bottom of the stairs, he laid an envelope on the hallway table and opened the front door, closing it carefully, silently, and locking it behind him.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Shit!" Panic fluttering in his chest, Sam whirled to see Dean sitting on the porch swing. "Damn it, Dean!"

Dean put an urgent finger to his lips. "Quiet. You don't want to wake Jim up."

"Dean, I have to do this!" Sam's voice rose, frantic at the thought of Dean stopping his escape. "Dad's not coming back in time. If I don't go, Mitch is going to get away!"

With a wary look at the house, Dean placed a soothing hand on his brother's shoulder. "Quiet," he repeated. "Jim's not freaking deaf. You don't shut up, he'll hear you and we'll never get out of here."

Sam stopped and stared at him, dark eyes wide with panic and incomprehension. "Wait - what?"

Dean sighed and picked up his duffel from beside the porch swing. "Like I said. I promised, too," he said quietly.

Eyes pricking with sudden tears, Sam drew in a ragged breath. "Dean . . . "

"I've never broken a promise to you, Sammy. I'm not starting now."

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_


	5. Chapter 5

So on Friday, I'm getting ready to post chapter five. I upload the document and realize it's an earlier version of the chapter, NOT the one I just spent five hours polishing. Major freak-out. I'm cursing a blue streak, searching everywhere, trying to find the fucker and it's no freaking where to be found. It's eleven at night, gotta work, exhausted. Screw it, going to bed. Still can't find it Saturday morning. Fine. Just - fine. I'll re-write from the earlier draft versions. Not happy about it, but gotta do what you gotta do. Bitch. Moan. Whine. And then bitch some more. So I'm rewriting. Then Sunday morning a friend hears my bitching and says did you check such and such? I say yes. She takes me back in and takes me to a different place then I was before and THERE IT FREAKING IS! Almost popped my cork. Ecstatic! So, me being me, even though I was getting ready to post it Friday night, took a few hours today to go over it and polish it some more. Just because. So here it is. Man, I feel euphoric. I was so, so not happy!

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Pastor Jim rapped a rapid tattoo on the boys' door as he passed their bedroom.

"Up and at 'em, boys!"

Not waiting for a reply, he continued on downstairs, yawning sleepily. He'd been up well past midnight the night before. Ostensibly? Working on Sunday's sermon. In reality - worrying about Sam.

During his many years in Blue Earth, Jim Murphy had spent a lot of his time as pastor counseling his parishioners. Talking them through their problems and, hopefully, helping them find solutions.

Most of the time they were relatively little problems, with easy solutions. Sometimes they were big problems, and solutions harder to come by.

But in all his years here, he'd never once been unable to work through a problem. It might take a while, but a resolution had always been found.

Jim had been wrestling with this particular problem for more than ten years and he was no closer to a solution than he'd been the first day he'd met the Winchesters.

John leaving his children alone for weeks at a time while he engaged in his unrelenting pursuit of evil was so common that Jim didn't really consider it a problem. It was more status quo.

The _problem_ was John's inability to understand that in leaving his children alone, he was leaving them at the mercy at the very evil he declared war against.

Yes, when he left his boys, rules were made. Instructions were given. Dean watched Sam like a hawk while their father was away, not just because of John's iron-clad rules, but because he adored his little brother.

But you can't watch a growing boy 24 hours a day.

In Evanston, Illinois, Sam had slipped his leash, as boys will. And in doing so he'd made himself and his young friend Joey vulnerable to a very human evil. The two youngsters had paid dearly for that mistake. Sam's friend had paid the highest price of all. Sam was still paying. Knowing him, he'd continue paying until the day he died.

When John had brought his little family to visit after the disaster in Springfield, Sam Winchester had changed from a confident, mostly happy youngster into a pale, thin boy who rarely smiled, never laughed and suffered horrendous nightmares. The only way he got any real rest was if Dean stayed with him.

Which, Dean being Dean, he did, up to the point where he was starting to look as pale and shell-shocked as his little brother.

Seriously worried, Jim had managed to persuade John to leave the two boys with him for a week while he went off on one of his hunts. That one week had stretched out to eight, at the end of which Sam was starting to regain both weight and color and even managing to sleep through most nights.

The respite had come to an end, of course, as they'd all known it would. When the Winchesters left Blue Earth, Sam had been smiling again, but there were still shadows behind those young, hazel eyes. Shadows that had seemed to retreat over the last couple of years, though Jim had seen them only for short stretches here and there.

Now, perhaps inevitably, those shadows were back again.

At this point, Jim was so frustrated with the situation all he wanted to do was kick John Winchester's butt from here to Bobby Singer's place in South Dakota.

It wouldn't solve the problem, but it would make _him _feel better.

Jim gave a heavy sigh. Right now, all he could do was provide some much needed moral support to the young Winchesters. He just hoped that would be enough.

He had coffee brewing and was in the middle of whipping up a pan of scrambled eggs when he realized that not only weren't the boys downstairs yet, but he hadn't heard any movement from upstairs.

No thumping feet, no toilet flushing, no shower running. The rest of the house was completely silent.

Uneasy, Jim walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Dean? Sam?"

Nothing.

Very uneasy now, he started up, then caught sight of an envelope lying on the hall table.

"Oh, damn it to hell!"

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

They entered the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia at half past seven in the evening.

The boys were quiet and right on the edge of grouchy. Neither of them had gotten any sleep the night before and they were exhausted.

Making it worse was the fact that they had no idea how they were going to find Mitch and his merry crew of perverts.

On a supernatural hunt, they'd have gone to where the kids had been hanging out; found out the details of where and when and how. They knew the habits of most supernatural predators, knew how to find them.

But Mitch, though he was indisputably a predator and a monster, was also human and humans were unpredictable.

One avenue of investigation completely closed off to them was that of law enforcement. Neither of the Winchester boys were old enough to impersonate FBI or regular police. The local police departments would _not_ be sharing information with them.

Complicating matters still more was that the missing children were being taken from different parts of the city.

None of the kids were connected to each other. They had nothing in common except their youth and the fact of their disappearance.

All these thoughts swirling through their heads, the two boys trolled through the streets of the city, taking it all in, no real clear idea of what they were looking for, just – looking. It was a big, bustling, beautiful city. And there were a _lot_ of people.

Just past nine o'clock, Dean said abruptly, "Screw this. We need food. And sleep." He looked along the street and spotted a pizza place. "We'll think of something in the morning.

Sam nodded and then asked, a little nervously, "Are we gonna call Dad?"

Dean snorted out a laugh. "Why bother? We'd only get his voicemail. Besides, I'm sure Jim already did."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Sam made a face.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Dean said reassuringly, hiding his own trepidation at the thought of their father's anger. "We'll probably find these guys before Dad even knows we're missing."

They pulled into the parking lot of the pizza place and managed to find the last empty space in the crowded lot. It was a family-style restaurant, not the kind of place they normally frequented, but they were starving and Dean, looking at Sam's pale, drawn face, knew it was past time to stop and recharge.

The crowd inside the restaurant was heavy, the noise deafening and the air thick with the smells of garlic, pizza and wood smoke from the fireplace in the middle of the room. Picnic-style tables were crowded together around the room and the jukebox in the corner blasted something indecipherable.

Dean dug Sam in the ribs with a mischievous smile when he saw several young, attractive waitresses in low-cut white blouses and tight black skirts traversing the room, carrying huge pitchers of beer and soda to tables full of boisterous customers.

"Not bad, huh?" he shouted above the din.

Sam shrugged an assent and the two joined the end of a short line of people waiting to place their order. When they finally got up to the counter, Dean slapped a couple of bills on the counter.

"Large pizza with everything. Hold the fish."

The teen at the register, a kid with a lot of colorful ink poking out from underneath the sleeves of his shirt, said wearily, "It's gonna be about fifteen minutes. You good with that?"

He hesitated, then a passing waitress gave him a smoky, sideways glance and Dean got his second wind. Throwing a flirtatious grin after her, he turned back to the teen and said easily, "No problem. Just have one of the ladies bring over a pitcher of beer and we're set."

Sam rolled his eyes and nudged his brother. "Dude. Coke."

"Yeah. And Coke."

The boy rang them up and then turned to the next customer in line. The Winchesters moved unhurriedly through the room and found an empty table not too far from the jukebox. When it fell silent a few minutes after they sat down, Dean took a handful of change over and plugged in a few songs.

As Bob Seger's "Night Moves" blared out, Dean looked with interest back toward the line at the counter, "Listen, Sammy, I'm gonna go add some bread sticks to our order."

Sam glanced over and saw a couple of pretty, giggling girls in short shorts looking Dean's way. "Wow." he smirked. "You're thinkin' with your downstairs brain. Must be Monday."

"Hey, bitch!" Dean cuffed him smartly across the top of the head.

"Jerk!" Sam swiped out at Dean, missing, and watched his laughing brother lope back over to the counter, where he slotted himself in line behind the girls. Within seconds, the flirtation was well on its way to Dean getting lucky.

Sighing, Sam laid his head down on his arms and closed his eyes. The noise of the restaurant receded and a delicious lassitude crept over him. He let it take him, floating blissfully in the twilight between sleep and consciousness.

After what seemed like a long time, he raised his head and looked blearily around. There were two pitchers on the table. He hadn't even heard the waitress bring them.

At the counter, Dean had finished ordering but it didn't look like he'd be coming back to their table any time soon. He'd taken a few steps off to the side with the young women and all three of them were trading playful glances and teasing smiles.

Sam sighed. He might be on his own tonight.

He tried to push that depressing thought aside. No reason Dean shouldn't have a little fun while they were out from under John's boot.

The thought of their father lowered his mood even further. The thought of having to face their father wasn't something he was looking forward to. It was going to make their usual arguments look like a peace accord.

Sam pushed that aside, too. It was too late now. They were in Savannah. And so was Mitch. Sam was sure of it. He could feel it. And, no matter what happened, he wasn't leaving until they dealt with the bastard.

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

_Sam Winchester looked up and his guts curdled._

_Dean!_

_Dangling from the top of the building, Dean sent a terrified glance down to Sam in the street below._

"_Sam!"_

_Sam plunged forward, then jerked to a stop as a meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder._

_"Hey, wildcat," Mitch purred. "Where you goin', sweet boy?"_

_Sam stared at him in terror and tried to pull away. "Let go!" He looked up at Dean, saw his brother lose his grip and dangle by one hand. "No!"_

_Mitch grabbed Sam by the hair and licked a hot trail up the long line of his throat. "You ain't goin' nowhere, son." He pointed up at Dean. "That's on you, wildcat. Told you I was coming back. You shoulda just stayed with me, let your brother live his life without you."_

_Sam threw a desperate punch at Mitch but his fists bounce off and the big man howled with demonic laughter._

_Ma Jenner appeared beside her behemoth son, scowling ferociously at Sam. "About time you found him. Told you he was trouble."_

"_Worth the trouble," Mitch gloats, licking his thick lips._

_Suddenly Ma Jenner is standing on top of the building, staring down at Dean, who'd managed to regain his handhold. She glared at him, then raised a foot and stomped a spiked heel down on one of his hands._

_Dean howled with pain._

_Sam echoed that cry and Mitch roared with amusement._

_Sam clutched at Mitch. "Stop her, please!"_

_The big man grinned tauntingly at him. "You gonna make it worth my while, wildcat?"_

_Sam didn't hesitate. "Anything!"_

_Mitch pulls him closer . . . _

"_SAM!"_

_Sam twisted around._

_Dean is falling._

_Falling. _

_Screaming. _

_Arms thrashing at the empty air._

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

"NO!" Sam lurched up in bed, eyes wide with panic and fear, drawing in great, ragged draughts of air.

Dean was on his feet, gun in hand, before he was even fully awake. Realizing swiftly what was happening, he slid on the bed next to his brother, taking him in a quick, hard hug. "It's okay, Sammy, it's okay."

"_God_!" Shaking with reaction, Sam grabbed hold of his brother, almost weeping with relief. "_Dean_."

Dean rubbing Sam's back gently. "It's okay, kiddo," he crooned comfortingly. "It's okay. You're awake. Everything's okay."

Tears spilling down his cheeks, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. "_God_." He quivered and shook, the memory of Dean's doomed flailing body warring with the warmth of his living, breathing brother.

When Sam's breathing had quieted a bit, Dean murmured quietly, "Hell of a dream, huh?"

"You don't wanna know," Sam croaked feelingly. Sweat covered him, hair limp with it. Moving reluctantly away from Dean, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rested his arms on his thighs, slumping forward with exhaustion.

"You okay?"

"I will be." Sam rubbed a shaking hand over his face, scrubbing away the tears. "I know what to do, Dean. We're gonna find Mitch through _her_."

"Who?"

"His mother. Ma Jenner." Sam stared at the floor, remembering. "She was there before. I told you. She wasn't in a wheelchair then." His eyes met Dean's, gleaming with satisfaction. "_That's _how we find them."

Dean was confused. "How?"

"We're gonna call around to all the hotels in town. Tell 'em some bullshit story, find out if they have a man and older woman who uses a wheelchair staying there."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "That's a lot of phone calls."

Sam flopped back on the bed and looked up at him wearily. "Yeah."

After an assessing moment, Dean nodded. "Not bad, little brother."

Sam tried to smile, but he really wasn't feeling it. "I just want this over."

"I know." Dean hesitated. "Sam, we haven't really talked about this, but - what happens when we find them?"

Sam stared at him, face going blank with surprise, as if he'd never considered that aspect of the situation, never thought about what they'd do with Mitch if, _when_, they managed to find him.

Finally, Sam shook his head and rolled over on his side, pressing his face into the pillow. "I don't know," he said, voice muffled. "I don't know."

_SUPNSUPNSUPN SUPN_


	6. Chapter 6

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

John Winchester burst through the automatic doors of the Riverwood Hospital E.R., Caleb tucked limp and unconscious under his arm, blood dripping copiously to the floor.

"Need some help here!" he shouted.

A team of scrub-clad nurses descended on them and separated the two, maneuvering Caleb onto a stretcher and wheeling him swiftly away.

Nearly breathless with relief and exertion, John staggered over to one of the hard, plastic chairs in the lobby and slumped down into it, trying to get his breath back.

"You okay?"

John raised his head and looked wearily at the nurse standing next to him. "I'm fine. Just – tired."

The young woman smiled sympathetically. "Can you tell me what happened to your friend?"

John tried to pull himself, and a reasonable story, together. One that would assure him unquestioned access to his injured friend.

"He's my brother. We were camping, out north of Big Sandy Lake. Caleb went out to, uh –" John gestured vaguely " – and something jumped him."

She nodded. "Pretty wild out there. Any idea what it was?"

"Bear."

Her light blue eyes widened in astonishment, but her voice stayed professional. "You got pretty lucky. What happened?"

He looked at her, confused and still a little bit bleary.

"With the bear?" she prodded gently.

"I threw rocks at it." John shrugged and gave her a half-smile. "Guess it decided we were a little too much trouble to make a good dinner."

She laughed. "You must have one hell of a throwing arm."

"I pitched in high school. Just wish I'd gotten there before . . . " He trailed off, rubbing the space between his eyes. "Can you find out how he's doing for me?"

"Absolutely. What's your brother's name?"

"Caleb. Caleb Marsh. I'm John."

"Hi, John. I'm Alice. Do you know if your brother is allergic to any medications?"

John gave her a faint smile. "Caleb's not allergic to anything but hard work."

Alice laughed. "Okay, then. You stay here, take it easy. I'll get you a cup of coffee, maybe some aspirin. Then I'll check on your brother." She looked him over and gestured to his clothing, which was caked with blood and dirt. "You might want to clean up, too. I think we have some scrubs you can borrow." There was a question in her voice.

John looked down at himself, grimaced and hauled himself out of the chair. "Thanks anyway. I've got some clothes out in the truck."

"Good. I'll have your coffee and aspirin waiting when you get back," Alice said with a nod. "And don't worry. We'll take good care of your brother."

John smiled, dark eyes warm. Now that things had calmed down a little, he was starting to notice that Alice had a very nice smile. "Thanks, sweetheart."

A faint blush on her cheeks, Alice watched the big man walk out the front door of the E.R. Then, smiling wryly at herself, she turned and started for the break room, and John's coffee.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Dean shut the door quietly behind him and stood still for a moment, letting the sun play across his face.

_Damn,_ but it felt good to get out of that motel room!

They'd been at it all day. Sam hunched obsessively over the room phone, Dean on his cell, calling hotel after hotel, looking for Mitch and his wheelchair-bound mother.

So far, no luck.

Truth be told, though he wouldn't say so to Sam, Dean didn't hold out very high hopes for this hunt.

After all, who's to say these creeps were even staying at a hotel? They hadn't in Evanston. They'd been squatting in an empty office building. They could be doing the same thing here.

Or they could've rented a house, or an apartment. Hell, the bastards could even be _gone_ by now.

But right now none of that mattered. What mattered was giving Sam a chance to redeem himself.

Not that Dean thought Sam needed redemption, but he knew damn well Sam thought he did. The nightmares from four years ago making their reappearance over the last week was proof enough of that.

So, regardless of how hopeless it seemed, they'd started their calls.

They'd called. And they'd called.

And then they'd called some more.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

They'd ordered in pizza for lunch and kept on calling, throughout the afternoon.

'No' was getting to be a state of mind.

By six o'clock, Dean was well past losing his patience and starting to lose his voice as well.

When the umpteenth desk clerk had given him a disinterested 'no', he'd shut his phone with a sharp snap and announced he was heading out to pick up dinner.

Sam hadn't even looked up, just waved distractedly and kept on dialing his next number, his next almost-certain-to-be 'no'.

Not bothering with the Impala, Dean walked three blocks down to the diner he'd stopped at that morning for breakfast. It was dinner time now, which meant busy time, but worth waiting for, judging by the enjoyment of the people already eating.

He waited patiently and, when his turn came, gave a friendly smile to the same dark-haired and shapely waitress that had waited on him that morning.

"Evening."

Phyl – according to the name tag on her uniform - smiled back at him, brown eyes tired but friendly. "Hey, sweetie, welcome back! What can I get for you-all?"

"Came in to pick up some dinner for me and my brother," Dean said easily. "What's good tonight?"

Phyl nodded to the bill of fare on the wall. "Special tonight is meat loaf. Mashed potatoes, corn and rolls to go with."

"Meat loaf any good?"

"It's _damned_ good."

"Great. Gimme two, to go. What kind of pie do you have?"

A portly man sitting on a stool at the counter wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "Try the blackberry, buddy. Best in the state. Night, Phyl."

"Night, Henry."

With a nod to Dean, the man left the diner and Dean sat down on the vacated stool.

"Henry's right, the blackberry's pretty good." Wiping a menu clean, Phyl dropped it in front of Dean and ran a finger down the dessert section. "We also have apple, cherry, pumpkin and pecan – no, wait, pecan's gone. Oh, and peach."

Dean grinned. "Blackberry sounds good to me. Can I have a piece while I'm waiting for my order?"

"You bet." She went to the display case off to the side and got him a slice. "You-all want whipped cream with that? Or maybe some vanilla ice cream?"

"No, thanks." Dean let a slight note of sympathy enter his voice. "Long day, huh?"

Phyl shrugged. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you own your own business and the help doesn't show up." She put the pie plate down in front of him, a fork next to it. "Enjoy, darlin'."

Dean took a bite and moaned, eyes half-closing in ecstasy. "Oh, man. This is amazing." He grinned at her. "I think I'm in love."

She smacked his hand playfully. "Glad you like it, but my husband is the cook. _He_ made the pies. I'll pass your compliment on."

"Can you add a couple more pieces to my order? But make one pumpkin. Sam – my brother – he likes pumpkin."

"Sure, sugar. We'll have your dinner up soon as we can."

"No rush." Dean watched with appreciation as the shapely brunette headed over to greet a new customer, enjoying the view, but mindful, now, of the husband in the kitchen.

Eating slowly, he polished off the rest of the pie, listening to the friendly back and forth between Phyl and her customers, the clink and clash of silverware and the muted sounds of the kitchen in the back. Gradually, some of the tension of the last week trickled out of him

He'd just finished when the pie when Phyl came out of the kitchen with a couple of paper bags. "Here's your dinner, sweetie. Sorry for the wait."

"Thanks." Dean got out his wallet and gave her a couple of bills. "Keep the change."

"Thanks." Phyl dimpled at him. "And if you're around tomorrow, Denny says we'll have more of that pecan pie."

Dean smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

A voice called out suddenly from the booth in the corner. "Hey, Phyl! You mind turning the T.V. up?"

"Sure, Rich." Phyl picked up a remote and turned up the volume on the television mounted on the wall.

Local evening news was on. A reporter with pouffy blond hair and spectacularly long legs stretching out of a tight black suit stood in front of a small, suburban house. A bicycle lay on its side in the middle of the front yard.

At the serious look on the reporter's face, Dean's heart sank, suddenly pretty damned sure of what he was about to hear.

"Ten-year-old William Conray is the third child to go missing in Savannah over the last ten days," the reporter was saying. "Conray, a fourth grader at Sarah Mills Hodge Elementary School, stayed after school yesterday to play basketball with friends. He left at approximately 4:30 to walk home but when his mother reached their small home here on Sanders Street, just after 5 p.m., William wasn't there."

Dean stared with narrowed eyes at the television screen. Shit.

"I spoke with Police Chief Carl Temke earlier this evening and he said that they have not yet officially connected the case of Billy Conray with that of the other missing children," the reporter continued. "Twelve-year-old Beth Ann Gallagher and eleven-year-old Kenneth Garland are also missing, but according to Chief Temke, Beth Ann Gallagher has run away twice before and the disappearance of Kenneth Garland may be a case of parental abduction."

"Damn it," Dean said in a low voice.

Phyl shook her head, looking up at the screen. "Damned shame, little boy disappearing like that," she said. "Hope we don't have some damned pervert running around."

Mouth tight, Dean nodded. "Yeah, let's hope. I'd better get going before my brother decides I ran out on him. I'll be back tomorrow for that pecan pie."

"Well, I'll sure save you a piece, darlin'." She waved an abstracted good-bye, frowning up at the television, and Dean left, trying to think of a way to break the news of this new missing child to Sam.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

"Yes, sir. Just yesterday," Sam said politely. "An older woman in a wheelchair. She was with a man. I think he's her son. I was hoping you could tell me if she's still there, so I can drop it by. Yes. Yes, I'll hold."

Sam waited for a few minutes and then came to attention as the desk clerk at the Fairfield Inn came back on the line. His shoulders slumped in disappointment. "No, thanks. I appreciate your checking, though. Thanks."

He hung up the phone, then doggedly crossed the Fairfield off his list.

Shit.

He'd been insane to think that they could find these bastards like this.

Seriously, calling every hotel in the city to ask after a wheelchair-bound old woman?

Insane. Desperate. Stupid.

Shit!

He took a breath. Screw that. The plan was good. The plan would work.

Besides, while it might be the craziest, stupidest, most desperate plan in the history of crazy, stupid and desperate plans, it was the only one they had.

He just had to hang in, keep working. When Dean got back – wait, where the hell did Dean go again?

Oh yeah, dinner.

Never mind. Keep going.

Hand trembling with weariness, he picked up the phone.

The door opened suddenly and Dean came into the room, arms full of paper bags that smelled like heaven.

Sam inhaled deeply and his eyes nearly crossed. "Oh man," he breathed. "That's amazing. Where the hell did you go?"

Dean smirked. "That café down the street. Amazing food. _Blackberry _pie, Sam." He laid the food out on the table, pulling out some paper plates and plastic utensils that Phyl had included. "Come on, time to eat."

Sam sniffed the air again, hesitated. "I should make a few more calls first . . . "

"Nope." Dean came over and plucked the phone out of his hand. He dropped it into the cradle and pulled Sam up by the arm, eyes narrowing when Sam swayed slightly. "Yeah, that's what I freaking thought." He marched his protesting little brother over to the table and sat him down. "Eat, moron."

Sam's protests stopped as soon as he laid eyes on his food. "Oh man," he said reverently. "_Meat loaf!" _

Dean snickered and the two fell on the food like starving wolves.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

When the last bite of food was gone, Dean patted his stomach contentedly. "That was great."

"Hmm." Sam ran a piece of bread over his plate, chasing the last of the gravy and pumpkin pie. He raised it to his mouth and then dropped it back to the plate with a sigh, unable to eat another bite. "Man, I think I'm gonna hurl."

"You better not, dude," Dean warned him. "Cause I am _not_ cleaning it up!"

Sam grinned at him, then slowly stood and stretched. "Back to the phones, I guess," he said unenthusiastically.

"How many more calls?"

"Fifty. Maybe less." He walked over to the bed and picked up the list, scanning it.

Dean groaned.

"You got any better ideas?" Sam stiffened, all his earlier worries about his grand plan roaring back.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry, man, it's just – just a lotta freaking phone calls, that's all."

"Maybe it won't be a lot more calls. Maybe it'll be the very next one." Sam chewed nervously on his lower lip. "Or - _crap_. Maybe it's all for nothing. Maybe they're not even in town anymore."

Dean froze, remembering. "Oh, yeah, about that . . . "

"What?" Sam saw the hesitation plain on his brother's face. "Dean?"

"They took another kid," Dean said reluctantly. "Yesterday."

Sam stared at him for a moment, unable to process. Then he dropped the list to the floor and moved over to the television set and crouched down in front of it, flipping channels until he hit a news station.

Different channel, different reporter. Same information that Dean had heard in the diner. Nothing new.

When it was over Sam stared blankly at the commercial on the screen until Dean reached past him and turned it off. "We'll find him, Sam. We'll find Mitch and we'll get this kid back."

"Will we?" Sam rocked back up to his feet. "This is _my_ fault!" he said savagely.

"Oh, come on –"

Sam paced across the room, kicking aside the list. "If I hadn't wimped out in Fort Myers. If I'd kept my shit together, if I'd just _shot_ the fucker –"

"Your butt would probably be in jail, me and Dad right alongside you."

"That would be better than more kids being taken – " Sam shook his head. "Damn it. They didn't have me and Joey more than a few hours before they had a buyer for him. How long does this kid have before they ship him off somewhere and – " He stopped. "Screw this," he said softly, almost to himself. "I'm gonna get back on that damned phone and find these bastards."

He scooped the list up off the floor and sat back down on the bed, next to the phone. "Okay. Okay."

Dean stared down at his brother for a moment, feeling an immense pride. Then, deciding to clean up before starting on his own calls, he went over to the table and started stuffing the debris from their feast into the bags, listening as his brother soldiered determinedly on.

"Hi, my name is Sam Cade, with Yellow Cab. Listen, I dropped a fare off there yesterday and didn't realize until today that she left a bag in my cab. I don't know her name. She was an older lady, in a wheelchair. I think she was travelling with her son."

Dean got a washrag and started to wipe the table down.

"_Excuse me?"_

Dean turned.

Sam's face was blank with shock as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. After a minute, he stammered, "And her son, he's a really big guy? Probably in his fifties? Bald? . . . Yeah, that sounds like them. . . . No, don't bother. I'll come by in a couple hours and leave it at the front desk. What did you say the last name is? . . . Okay. Thanks again."

Sam dropped the phone into its cradle and stood up. His face was stunned. "_Fuck_!"

"No _way_!" Dean said, incredulous.

"The Baymont Inn," Sam said, feeling numb. "Suite 330. Under the name Josephson." His eyes were suddenly blazing. "Son of a bitch, Dean! We've got him!"

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

_The Baymont Inn . . ._

Barbara Sparks took her purse out from under the counter. "It's been pretty quiet," she told the night manager. "But Marie called in _sick_ again."

Claudine rolled her eyes. "Lord, if that girl doesn't get it together, she's gonna get fired."

Barbara leaned over and whispered something into Claudine's ear. Both women giggled.

"That's pretty bad, even for Marie!" Claudine said. "You sure?"

"Apparently her only prerequisite is that they have a penis," Barbara said snidely.

"Me-yow, girl!" Claudine glanced around, then relaxed when she saw that no one was close enough to have heard. "Well, you have a good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, 'Dine."

As Barbara approached the front door, she saw Mr. Josephson coming in the front door. He nodded to her and she remembered her last call.

"Oh, Mr. Josephson, we had a call from Yellow Cab a few minutes ago. One of their drivers was looking for your mother. He said she left a bag in one of their cars yesterday."

The balding man looked confused for a minute, then his face cleared and he said, "Oh yes, Mother told me she was looking for that. Did he leave a number?"

Barbara shook her head. "No, he's going to drop it off at the front desk later tonight." She looked at her watch. "Well, I'd better get going. You have a nice night."

"You, too." Mitch smiled and watched as Barbara left the hotel.

"Well, now," he mused. "Isn't _that_ interesting.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN


	7. Chapter 7

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

Jim Murphy slammed the phone back down in its cradle, trying to persuade himself that killing John Winchester would be a bad idea.

Five messages he'd left the man. _Five_. And still he didn't call back. _Still_ every call went straight to voicemail! Even Caleb wasn't picking up.

Jim pushed down a small niggle of unease. Both men couldn't be dead, they were too good at what they did. The idiots had just turned their phones off, or lost them or some other damned – darned - foolishness.

Unable to help himself, he picked up the phone and rang both John and Caleb's numbers again. No answer.

"Give me strength," he muttered.

There was no help for it. He'd have to go to Georgia. If anything were to happen to those two boys, he'd never forgive himself.

But first . . .

Jim picked up the phone a final time.

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

Sam's hands were shaking badly. Probably, he thought, a combination of the three cups of coffee he'd had this morning and the fact that he hadn't slept at all the night before.

Or maybe it was because he was close to nailing the son-of-a-bitch that had killed Joey.

His gaze flicked over to where Dean was parked in the Impala, halfway down the street in front of a realty office that wasn't open. He couldn't see his brother through the fogged-up windows, but he knew without doubt Dean was there, with both eyes, and probably binoculars too, trained on him.

His big brother hadn't been too happy to leave Sam on his own, but there hadn't been any other real choice. The area right around the hotel was a no parking zone except for cabs, and they couldn't risk a cop spotting them and making them move on. The bus shelter across from the hotel was the only place close enough to be sure of making a firm i.d. of Mitch.

Dean had wanted to stay with Sam, but if they both stayed at the bus stop, they could lose Mitch by the time they got back to the Impala. So, though it tore at the very fiber of Dean's being to leave his brother alone with Mitch in the area, he'd gone back to the Impala.

Sam's eyes snapped back to the hotel as the front door opened and a leggy brunette wrapped up in a long fur coat swayed outside. She peered up at the sky, pulling the coat tightly'round herself, then shook her head and went right back into the hotel.

Sam sneezed. He knew just how she felt. A cold front had blown in during the night and a shitload of rain had come with it. That rain had been falling on and off all night and into the morning. More on than off for the last two hours.

The crappy weather was good news, apart from Sam freezing his ass off. It meant that when Mitch came out, he wouldn't be spending a lot of time looking at the scenery and the other cars around him. He'd be concentrating solely on getting to wherever the hell he was going and getting out of the weather.

Another blast of wind and rain blew in under the roof of the bus enclosure and Sam bit back a curse. One thing he knew for sure. Dean was gonna be mother-henning the crap out of him once this was over. He was probably kicking himself right now, thinking his fragile little brother was gonna catch pneumonia or something.

Sam's mouth twisted in a wry grin. He knew damned well his brother would've been standing out here himself, if not for the fact that only Sam knew exactly what Mitch looked like.

The door to the hotel whooshed open again and a small group of people emerged. He scanned each of them carefully. No wheelchair. No Mitch. No Mitch's mother.

He pushed down his disappointment and irritation, the urge to run across the street and smash down every door in the place until he found the bastard.

_Keep cool._

Mitch would come out sooner or later. When he did, all they had to do was shadow the guy, make sure they stayed far enough back their quarry didn't spot them, and follow him to wherever he had the kids stashed. Then they'd call the cops.

Easy. No muss, no fuss.

A man and woman exited the hotel and dived into a cab. Not his guy.

_Crap_.

Sam stuck his hands under his jacket and took a quick turn around the inside of the shelter, trying to warm up.

His cell rang and he fumbled it one-handed out of his jacket pocket, checking the display.

Pastor Jim.

Sam let it go to voicemail. Before he had a chance to listen to whatever message had been left, his cell rang again. Dean, this time.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

Stomping his feet, trying to get some circulation going, Sam said irritably, "I'm fine."

"So what's up with the Mexican hat dance?"

Sam shot a glare in the direction of the Impala. "Fine, I'm freezing my butt off. Happy now?"

"Smart ass." Dean sounded amused.

"Yeah, well, look who's talking," Sam muttered. "Did you call me for something special or just to drive me crazy?"

"Driving you crazy is just a bonus, Sammy." Sam could hear Dean's smirk through the phone. "Did Jim just call you?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And nothing. I didn't answer."

"He called me, too. I didn't pick up either. Rather get my ass reaming done all at once. I'll wait for Dad."

Sam laughed without any great humor.

Two men exited the hotel, opened up a large umbrella and plunged laughing into the street, angling away from Sam.

Not Mitch.

"Listen, you've been out there three hours already." Dean's voice was casual, but Sam didn't miss the concern underneath. "Why don't you go into that coffee shop down the street? You can see the hotel from there."

"No," Sam said flatly. "I might miss him."

"Well then, how about we call in there, light a fire under him? Maybe we can get him to go to the kids now."

"Jeez, Dean, come on! The only chance we've got to free those kids is to follow Mitch to where he's got them stashed! If he thinks someone is onto him, he'll never go there!"

"Okay, okay." Dean's raw nerves thrummed through the open phone line. "Keep your panties on. It's just - all this damned waiting."

Sam made no reply.

A large city bus pulled up in front of the enclosure and the door squealed open. The driver looked out impatiently at Sam. "You coming?"

Sam shook his head. The door of the bus slammed shut and the behemoth vehicle pulled away, gas fumes trailing behind it.

"You there, Sammy?"

"I'm gonna hang up now."

"Fine. But if he doesn't come out in the next hour, I'm taking your place out there."

"_Dean_ –"

The hotel door opened. Mitch came out.

Sam must have said something, made some sound.

Dean's voice came high and excited through the phone. "Sam? Is that him?"

Sam let out a shaky breath.

_Mitch_.

Big. Just as big as he remembered. Heavy barrel chest. Bald head, uncovered in the rain. Pitted face and deep-set eyes. Black trench coat swirling 'round him in the wind.

"Sam?"

Sam closed the cell phone and stuck it back into his jacket. Not taking his eyes off the big man's face, he stepped out from under the shelter. He reached into his jacket and took hold of the grip of his pistol.

Joey.

_I'm coming back for you, wildcat_.

A car horn blasted. Sam recognized it as the Impala's and stopped, looking towards her.

Without even looking around, Mitch ducked into one of the waiting cabs and it pulled out and headed down the street.

In a second the Impala pulled up beside Sam. Dean threw open the passenger door. "Get in the fucking car!"

Sam jerked his gaze away from the disappearing cab and climbed into the car. Dean didn't even wait until the door was closed before he pulled out after the taxi.

"You okay?" Dean cast an anxious glance at his little brother. "Sam, you with me?"

"I'm fine," Sam said, eyes fixed intently on the car far ahead. "Just don't lose him."

"I won't lose him. But you keep your head in the game, hear me?" He reached over into the back seat and grabbed a towel, tossing it at Sam. "And dry off before you catch freaking pneumonia."

"I said I'm fine." Sam rubbed the towel roughly over his head and tossed it into the back. "Let's do this."

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

"Fucking wendigos," Caleb muttered sulkily. "Hate those bastards."

John's tired face eased into a smile. "Maybe next time you'll listen when I yell 'duck'."

"Bite me." The injured hunter shifted in bed, wincing at the pull of stitches on his torso. "Crap. I need a drink."

John smirked. "Cafeteria's got a nice lemonade."

Caleb shot him a filthy look and John laughed outright. "Hey, don't blame me! I was all set to haul your sorry ass back to the motel and stitch you up. You're the one who decided to bleed out."

Blinking away from the hospital room's bright fluorescent lights, the younger man yawned and shifted again. "How long before they cut me loose?"

"They want to keep you another couple of days." John ignored Caleb's groan. "But I figure since they topped you off last night, we can head out tonight, after it quiets down."

Caleb gave a satisfied nod. "Damned right." He yawned again.

John cocked an assessing eye at him. "In the meantime, why don't you get some sleep so I don't have to carry you out?"

Caleb flipped him off, but in a few minutes he'd drifted off and the room was quiet.

With a tired sigh, John pulled out his cell phone. Time to check in with the boys and let them know he'd be back in a day or so. They'd head on back to Blue Earth, drop Caleb off at Jim's and then the three of them could head on back to Florida, get this Mitch nonsense taken care of.

The door opened quietly and Alice poked her head in. "How's our patient?"

"Grumpy." John quickly slipped the cell back into his pocket. "Come on in."

Alice came inside and offered him a cup. "More coffee?" Her face lit with amusement. "I figure it's the only thing keeping you awake right now."

John accepted it and took a grateful sip. When she showed no sign of leaving immediately, he decided to follow an earlier impulse. "Alice, you married?"

She smiled and gave a slight shake of her head. "Divorced. Two years now."

"Seeing anyone?"

She shook her head again, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

They looked at each other for a long moment and then Caleb, eyes still closed, growled, "Jesus, just ask her out already, so I can get some friggin' sleep!"

The two both laughed and Alice asked tentatively, "Would you like to come to my place for dinner tonight, John?"

John glanced at Caleb, who kept his resolutely eyes closed. He turned back to Alice. "Yes, I would."

"Good." Face a rosy pink, Alice left the room.

Caleb opened his eyes and smirked up at the older hunter.

"Shut up," John said uncomfortably. "One more night won't kill you."

Caleb snickered. "You're a friggin' heartbreaker, Johnny boy."

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_

The boys followed Mitch north to an industrial part of the city that looked as if it had never seen better days. There were warehouses, a couple auto repair shops and a lot of buildings that hadn't been occupied in years.

The cab dropped Mitch off in front of an old brick four-story with boarded up windows. As the Winchesters watched from a couple blocks back, the big man unlocked the front door and went inside.

"Let's go," Sam said, reaching for the door handle.

Dean snagged his arm. "Hold on. Didn't this seem just a little bit too easy to you?"

"He doesn't know we followed him," Sam snapped. "He doesn't even know that anyone's on to him!"

When Dean didn't look convinced, Sam just snorted and pulled his arm free impatiently. "I'm going. You coming or not?"

"Keep your pants on, Francine." Dean pulled out his cell phone. Plugging in a familiar number, he sent a quick text message with the address of the building then turned it back off.

If this went south, at least someone would know where they were.

_SUPNSUPN_

The two cut into an alley half a block from Mitch's supposed hideout and worked their way to the back of the building where several large trash bins blocked the alley. The loading dock leading inside the building was locked, but they managed to open it without too much trouble.

Once inside, they found themselves in a deserted loading dock. They could hear sounds further inside the building - voices, the hum of an elevator, the high scream of a drill – but nothing too close to them.

As the boys moved cautiously through the building, they came to a door propped open with a box. They peeked through the door and saw a large room filled with a couple dozen copy machines. Two of the room's wall held massive shelving units and the shelves were stacked with boxes.

No one was in the room, but there was an open door on the other side. They could hear someone moving back and forth and the sound of at least two voices.

Off to the side of the copy room, not too far from the occupied room, was a door which led to the stairwell.

With no hesitation, Sam starting jogging across the room toward the stairs. Dean followed him, cursing under his breath and keeping an eye out for roaming pederasts.

Once inside the dimly lit stairwell, Sam started unhesitatingly upstairs.

"Hold on," Dean hissed at him. "Maybe they're in the basement."

Sam paused and looked down at him. "They kept me and Joey upstairs," he answered, not even trying to keep his voice down. He moved on up the stairs, Dean close behind him.

Sam didn't pause until they reached the top. On the fourth floor landing, he pulled out his gun and started to open the door to the hallway.

"Sam!" Dean yanked him back and put himself between his brother and the door. "Damn it, wait!"

"Get out of the way!" Sam growled.

"You're just gonna run out there, let that asshole grab you again? What good are you to those kids if you're dead?"

Furious, Sam shoved him. "You don't understand!"

"The fuck I don't!" Dean pushed him back. "The days he had you were the worst of my life! I thought you were dead! You think I don't want this bastard?"

"You don't have Joey's death on you!" Sam spat. "You don't have him screaming in your head!"

Dean faltered, then hardened himself against the pain in his brother's eyes. "Maybe not, but if you don't start treating this like a hunt and not some damned suicide run, I'm knocking you out and taking you outta here."

Sam gave an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, right!" He went for the door again and Dean shoved him back.

"You think I'm kidding?" he said dangerously. "I'm not losing you again, Sammy." He grabbed Sam by the collar, dragging him off balance, and shook him, hard. "I'm – not – fuckin' – _kidding_!"

They stared at each other for a long, very tense minute, then Sam sagged against Dean's hands in surrender. "Damn it . . ."

Dean held on to him. "We start up here and work our way down," he said urgently. "We look, we listen, we find the damned kids. Then we call the cops. _And we don't get caught_."

"Okay." Sam let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Sorry."

Dean released him. "Let's get going then. I'm late for my ass whopping with Dad."

Nerves strung tight as bowstrings and guns ready, the two boys cracked open the door and peeked out into an empty hallway. Several closed doors lined the hallway on either side. They could hear nothing.

Moving silently, they moved to the first door and listened. No sound from within. They opened the unlocked door. An empty room.

The second and third doors were the same.

The fourth room was locked.

At a nod from Dean, Sam dug out his pick and went to work. It took only a few seconds for the lock to give it up and they pushed the door open on a small, shadowy room, the only furniture a camp bed in the corner next to an uncurtained window. On the bed was a young boy, maybe eleven years old. He was asleep.

The Winchesters slipped into the room and closed the door behind them. Dean stayed by the door. Sam stowed away his gun and went to the bed.

"Kid." He put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Kid, wake up."

The boy stirred slightly, murmuring unintelligibly.

"Come on, kid, wake up."

The boy woke, blinking groggily and, seeing Sam, jerked upright with a startled cry. He was slim and pale, with large brown eyes and shaggy dark hair, and wore only a thin, white t-shirt and grey sweat pants.

"It's okay," Sam said reassuringly. "We're not gonna hurt you."

The frightened boy saw Dean, and his gun, by the door. His eyes widened even more and he pulled himself back against the wall. "What do you want?"

"We're here to help." Sam smiled at the boy. "Don't worry, we're not gonna let him hurt you anymore. We're gonna take you home."

The boy stared at him, then he sucked in a breath and screamed, flat-out, desperate and raw with panic.

"_MITCH_!"

_SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN_


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the long delay. I hope you-all like it. Let me know if you have a minute.

(((())))

Caleb cracked open a tired eyelid. "You gonna hit _every_ pothole on this damned road?"

John didn't answer, all of his attention on the road ahead of him. On his boys, out here somewhere on their own, hunting for a human monster.

Caleb groaned. "John, come on, you had no way of knowing they'd pull this shit."

John shook his head. "I should've known," he answered bitterly. "I sure as hell knew how important it was to Sam. And Dean – he'd do anything for his brother, including something this goddamned stupid."

Exasperated, Caleb scrubbed a hand across his face and then, resigned to staying awake for a bit, tugged a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one up.

Screw it. He'd _known_ John would react like this. From the moment he'd dug out his cell phone and listened to Jim's repeated frantic voicemails, he'd known. Where his boys were concerned, John Winchester was as predictable as the tide.

Had kinda taken the fun outta dragging John out of a warm woman's bed.

Caleb let a few more dozen miles go by before he tried again, though he knew his friend would hold on to his guilt as tightly as he held on to his rage over his wife's death.

"Jim will find them, John. By the time we get to Savannah, he'll have them home already. We'll have made the trip for nothing."

John shot a jaundiced look at his companion. "Who're you, Polly-freaking-anna?"

Caleb shrugged. He fished out another cigarette, then, yawning, tucked it away.

Another thing he'd learned about the Winchesters over the last decade was that there was no one on earth more stubborn. If John had decided he was guilty, then by God he was gonna _be_ guilty.

To John Winchester, life was a clusterfuck. He'd given up expecting anything but a kick in the teeth a long time ago.

A wave of weariness washed over Caleb. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to ignore his aching ribs and the painful stretch of the stitches across his torso.

In a few minutes, in spite of the relentless jolting and jouncing of the truck, he fell into a restless half-sleep.

Dean jerked around at the boy's scream, eyes wide with surprise. In that moment of inattention, the door burst open and clocked him on the head, knocking him to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Swollen with anger and triumph, Mitch loomed in the doorway, two armed heavies behind him. With a satisfied grunt, the balding man knelt and scooped Dean's gun off the floor, then took an aggressive step toward Sam.

Without hesitation, Sam pulled the gun out from under his jacket and leveled it at the big man, ready to fire.

"No!" The boy they'd come to rescue threw himself at Sam, pawing at the gun. Cursing, Sam slapped him, hard, then shoved him down between the bed and the wall, drawing a pained cry out of the youngster.

"Hey!" Mitch took another step into the barren room, henchmen crowding in behind him. "Hey! Hands off, asshole!"

Gun tight on Mitch, Sam ordered, "Stop right there, you piece of shit."

The big man hesitated, then motioned his men back a couple of steps. Eyeing Sam warily, he called to the boy, "You okay down there, Alec?"

After a short silence, Alec peeked over the side of the bed, dark hair straggling down over frightened eyes. "I'm okay." He started to get up.

"Stay down!" Keeping his gun on Mitch, Sam shoved Alec back down, his agitation clicking up another hefty notch.

Mitch raised his hands soothingly. "Okay, okay, just take it easy." He called to the boy, keeping his eyes on Sam's face. "You stay down, Alec."

Alec, with a frightened look at Sam, ducked down out of sight.

Mitch's eyes ran assessingly over Sam, and laughed contemptuously. "Huh! Knew you weren't cops. Cops don't need to spin some bullshit story about lost luggage."

Sam's flesh crawled at the familiar sound of the big man's laughter. It was the sound of everything bad that ever happened in the world. Everything that ever _would_ happen. It made him want to puke.

He cast a frantic look at the crumpled form of his brother. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Oh, hell, don't worry about him." Smirking, Mitch nudged Dean's leg carelessly with his foot. "He just got his head smacked a little."

"Don't you touch him!" Sam said, furious.

Mitch snorted with laughter. Then he stopped, puzzled, and studied Sam's face.

There was something familiar about this boy.

"You're not cops," he said finally. "And the way you're lookin' at me, you're not competition. Who the hell are you?"

Sam flushed. "Who I am doesn't matter!" _Damn it, damn it, damn it!_ "Dean, wake up!"

Mitch started to say something, but a groan from Dean drew his attention and he grinned down mockingly at the dazed hunter. "How you doin' there, sleepyhead?"

Grimacing, Dean pushed himself up clumsily, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He hesitantly explored the blossoming lump on his forehead and his fingers came back bloody.

Dean stared up at the three men. "Like I didn't already have enough reasons to want your dumb asses dead," he said balefully.

At the implied threat, one of Mitch's men, a short, stocky, nasty-eyed blonde, moved forward, but Mitch held up a hand and the man settled back, glaring at Dean.

"Let's remember who's got the most guns here." Mitch clucked chidingly and dangled Dean's pearl-handled Colt above the fallen man's head. "We wouldn't want to have any more accidents."

"That's my favorite gun," Dean said, not impressed. "Don't lose it."

Mitch's other man, a heavily-tattooed Hispanic with stringy hair tugged back into a tight ponytail, laughed derisively. "You're not gonna need it, asshole."

The sound of Sam's revolver cocking filled the room and the three men froze.

"Whoa, now, son" Mitch said softly, warningly, to Sam. "Don't start something you can't finish!"

"You hurt my brother, you can bet I'll fucking finish this," Sam hissed, eyes jumping back and forth quickly between the three men.

Alerted by the sound of the strain in his brother's voice, Dean twisted round on the floor to face him. "Sam, I'm okay, take it easy - "

"Sam?" Mitch ran his eyes over Sam - the long, lean body and shaggy dark hair, the rage-hot hazel eyes. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" He laughed incredulously. "Wildcat, is that _you_?"

The boy poked his head up from behind the bed and stared at Sam. He mouthed Sam's name silently and then his eyes widened in startled recognition.

Mitch shook his head. "I can't believe it's you." His voice was wondering, caressing. "_Damn_."

"Shut up!"Sam's face was dead white, flesh drawn tight around his cheekbones. "Where are the kids?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Oh, hell, they're long gone." Mitch's tone was dismissive. "I don't keep the merchandise around too long anymore. Learned that lesson back in Evanston." His eyes were bright with malice. "Joey - wasn't that his name?"

_Joey screamed, young eyes blown wide with terror as he fell to the street far below. _

Sam blanched. "You son of a bitch," he hissed. "You son of a _bitch_."

"Long time ago." Mitch said to Sam with a reminiscent smile, oblivious to Sam's fury. "I looked for you. But you and your family disappeared. Had a man in the department; said no one knew where you went."

Listening to the big man, seeing the nearly blind rage on his brother's face, Dean's heart sank.

Sam was gonna kill this guy. Now, sixty seconds from now, didn't matter, he was dead. Bastard was just too stupid to see it. And once that balloon went up, they were probably all dead. There were too many guns in this damned room.

The criminal glanced down at Dean. "This your brother? I think I remember seeing him at the hospital." He smirked. "Told you I'd see you again, Wildcat."

The Hispanic gunman was growing restless. "Who are these guys, Mitch? How did they find us?"

"And why the hell aren't we killing them?" Blondie added explosively.

Mitch ignored them. The big man's entire attention was focused on Sam. His tongue ran out over his lower lip in a movement that made Dean's stomach roll.

Moving slowly, he gathered himself.

Mitch's attention switched abruptly back to Dean.. "Uh uh, boy. You stay right there. Unless you want to die right now."

Sam growled and Mitch laughed outright. "You haven't changed a bit, Wildcat," he chuckled. "Still nineteen kinds of crazy. Want to kill me pretty bad, don't you?"

Sam managed a small smile of his own. "Oh, yeah. I really do." He could hear the truth of it in his own voice and, by the slight dimming of Mitch's mocking grin, he did, too.

_Yes_, he wanted this bastard dead.

But doing it now would end up with more than Mitch dead. Dean was in a vulnerable position and the two creeps with Mitch were fully loaded.

Two things he did know.

One, he wasn't giving up his gun.

Two, Mitch wasn't getting out of this alive. Not if he had to die for it himself.

He owed it to Joey. He owed it to himself.

But first . . .

"Where are the kids?" Sam said one last time, voice echoing hollowly in his own ears.

Mitch shrugged. "Told you, they're gone."

Sam gave a jagged nod at the kid. "What about him?"

Mitch's gaze softened. "Alec is special."

Alec blushed and Sam's rage rose even higher.

"Yeah? How long until he's too old for you?" he spat. "What happens to him then? You gonna pass him on to someone not so picky?"

Alec's mouth opened in a small, distressed circle. "Mitch_?_"

"Don't you listen to him, baby," Mitch said swiftly, with an angry glare at Sam. "He's just trying to turn you against me."

Shifting uneasily behind his boss, Blondie said, "Come on, Mitch, let's finish this. You don't know these guys didn't call the cops."

"Shut up!" Mitch said harshly over his shoulder.

"He's right, boss," Tattoos interjected, looking down coldly at Dean. "Time to get this done, get the fuck out of here."

"Shut the fuck up." His voice was deadly. "I mean it."

Voice trembling, Alex said, "Mitch, it's him, isn't it? He's the one you told me about." He gave a little sob. "Is he coming back? Are you sending me away?"

"Jesus, kid!" Sam gave an ugly laugh. "How screwed in the head are you?"

"Sam, stop it!"

Sam ignored his brother. He was speaking to Alec but his eyes never left Mitch's angry gaze. "This prick is finished. He is _done_. We're taking you outta here and getting you back to your family – "

"No!" With a furious, screeching howl, Alec threw himself at Sam and sank his teeth into his arm.

"Shit!" Trying to keep his eyes and gun on Mitch and his ass hats, Sam tore the boy loose from his arm and knocked him to the floor.

Taking his chance, Dean lunged up from the floor and grappled with a distracted Mitch. Digging his heels in, he drove the big man back into his henchmen, sending Tattoos to the floor beneath Mitch, Dean's pearl-handled revolver skittering under the bed, and knocking Blondie stumbling back out into the hall.

"Sam!" Throwing a frantic look towards his brother, Dean slammed a fist into Mitch's face, once, twice, then gave Tattoos one for good measure. "Get the hell outta here!"

"Shit!" Sam sprang forward and kicked Tattoos in the head just as he was starting to level his gun at Dean. "Fucker!"

With an angry roar, Mitch threw Dean off himself and lunged to his feet. He leaped onto the older Winchester and the two wrestled and careened around the room, each of them hanging fiercely on to the other as they ricocheted off the walls.

Sam heard the scrape of a shoe behind him. Eyes widening – how the fuck could he have forgotten that other douche bag? – he spun to face Blondie's gun, pointed right in his face.

Without thought, Sam's hand darted out and slapped the barrel of the gun to the side. It fired, sending a bullet into the ceiling, drawing a frightened yelp from Alec who darted back behind the bed and a startled curse from Mitch.

Snarling, Blondie brought his gun back around, Sam mirroring his movement. They fired, Sam a bare second before Blondie.

Sam's bullet tore into his adversary's chest and as the man collapsed, his bullet went wild, blew past Sam and hit Dean in the head. With a grunt, he slumped to the floor, blood streaming down his face.

Stunned, Sam stared at his brother's inert body. "Dean?" He took a tentative step towards him. "Dean?"

Mitch seemed just as stunned as he at the suddenness of what had just happened. He gaped down at Dean, open-mouthed, then over at Blondie, clearly dead, and at Tattoos, unconscious, with Sam's boot print on the side of his face.

Looking warily at the gun in Sam's hand, hanging limply at his side, careful to make no sudden movements to draw the shocked young man's attention, Mitch's hand slid beneath his jacket toward his revolver.

Sam's grief sucked all the air out of the room. Hazel eyes burning, heart breaking, he knelt beside his brother and placed a trembling hand on his neck, checking for a pulse. He felt a faint but steady thrum beneath his fingers and closed his eyes, tears seeping out in terrified relief.

_Hospital, gotta get him to a hospital. Gotta call Jim. Dad. _

"Mitch?" Alec's small, scared voice broke the silence of the room and Sam's wrenched his eyes up from his brother to see Mitch pulling a gun out from under his jacket.

Sam shot him.

The bullet burst out the back of Mitch's neck in a sickening spray of blood and flesh and the big man crashed back against the wall, sliding down it and onto his ass, leaving a rich, red trail of blood on the wall.

Heart pounding, brain clicking back on again, Sam whipped around to check on the other men.

Tattoos was still out.

Blondie, still dead.

The door, empty.

For now.

Swaying a bit, dizzy with adrenaline and shock, Sam looked back at Mitch.

Blood spraying with each attempted breath, Mitch grinned back at him crazily. "Later – Wildcat," he rasped, then slumped to the side, the light fading from his staring eyes.

Strength drained, body shaking with adrenaline and reaction, Sam went to his knees, taking in deep shuddering breaths.

After a minute, Alec crept out from behind the bed and Sam stared at him dully, unable to think of a damned thing to say to the weeping boy.

_It'll be okay? I'm sorry? _

Pulling out his cell phone, he pressed speed dial for Jim. It went to voicemail.

Tried again. Voicemail, again.

_Okay_.

He pressed his father's number and it rang.

In stereo.

It rang again, in his ear and in the hall. Sam lunged to his feet, looking at the door.

John stood in the doorway.


	9. Chapter 9

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Dean's moan brought Sam's eyes back down to his injured brother as John eased his eldest up to a sitting position, steadying him when the movement and accompanying pain joggled him awake.

"Take it easy, Dean," John said soothingly. "You're okay."

Blood caking his hair and smeared down the side of his face, Dean stared at his father, eyes dazed. After a moment, he leaned against him with a tired sigh.

Nerves raw at the sight of Dean's ugly wound and the even uglier mess around them, John glared up at his blood-spattered younger son. "What the hell happened?"

When Sam just stared at him vacantly, John's temper flared higher. "Sam, snap out of it, damn it!"

Sam didn't answer, just blinked at him owlishly.

John started to bark at him again and Bobby stepped in.

"Don't you know shock when you see it, Winchester?" he asked impatiently. "Just leave him be, John. He ain't even here right now."

John snapped his mouth shut and thought back to a few weeks ago. His heart sank. "What, _again_?" He could hear the censure in his own voice and was sorry the second the words left his mouth.

Bobby stared at John in disbelief. He opened his mouth to blast him, but discarding John as a hopeless case, shook his head and turned to Sam.

Seeing that the boy was still clutching his gun, he said matter-of-factly, "Let me take care of that for you, Sam. You don't need it right now."

Sam didn't look at him, didn't seem to even notice when Bobby took the gun and dropped it into his own jacket pocket. The boy's gun secured, Bobby went over Sam, checking for wounds. None of the blood on his clothes appeared to be his own.

Relieved, he patted Sam's arm. "You're good, kid. No worries."

"Damn it, Bobby." Arms wrapped protectively around a semi-conscious Dean, John looked despairingly around the reeking, bloody room. "What the _hell_ happened here?"

"Whatever it was, we need to get outta here. We got no idea if there are any more of these assholes around, or if someone heard the shots and called the cops."

John nodded, knowing full well the old man was right. Being found in a room with bullet-ridden bodies and a kidnapped child – not a way to win a popularity contest with the local p.d., no matter what the circumstances.

John looked toward the silently weeping teen. He was sitting near the torn and bloody body of a large, bald man.

From Sam's description of the man a few years ago, it had to be Mitch. Well, John wasn't going to waste any tears over that bastard. "The kid okay?"

"Hell, no," Bobby's tone was caustic. "He's nowhere near okay. But he ain't shot, if that's what you're askin'. Come on, let's get Dean up."

John nodded and bent his head over Dean's. After a little coaxing, the boy's eyes opened to slits and he peered blearily out at his father. It took a minute for recognition to dawn.

"Dad?"

"Hey, son." John smiled with relief. "How do you feel?"

Dean seemed to think about it. "M' head hurts," he finally mumbled.

John smiled at him, relieved that his boy seemed to be tracking okay. "Well, that's what happens when you try to stop a bullet with your head."

"A bullet?" Dean sounded confused.

"Just a graze." John gently brushed a strand of hair out of his boy's face. "And another concussion."

"Oh." Head wobbly, Dean looked up at Bobby." Bobby?"

Bobby smiled down at him. "Hey, boy."

"You ready to get out of here, son?"

Dean didn't reply. He was looking woozily up at his silent brother. "Sam? You okay?"

Sam didn't answer, just stared blankly into space.

Dean's voice tightened with alarm. "Sammy?" He grabbed at John. "Dad, help me, get me up," he said, panic pushing his pain aside.

Knowing that trying to keep Dean down would only agitate him further, John got him up off the floor with an assist from Bobby.

"Sam's fine, Dean, not even a scratch," John assured Dean. "He's just a little shook up. Come on, Sam, say something to your brother."

Ignoring both his father and his own pounding head, Dean latched clumsily onto Sam's chin and turned Sam to face him.

"Hey, Sammy, you in there?"

Sam seemed to come back from a long way away. "Dean?"

Relieved, Dean almost smiled. "Hey, brother. You okay?"

After a minute or so, Sam said, just above a whisper, "I thought you were dead."

"Nah, I'm okay," Dean said, with a fair imitation of his usual cockiness. "Take more than that to kill me."

Sam nodded, then his gaze dropped to Mitch's blood-soaked body, Alec sitting desolate on the floor beside him, and his face went empty again.

"Sam? Sammy?" Swaying, Dean grabbed hold of his brother and peered anxiously into his face.

"Dean, he'll be okay once we get him outta here," Bobby interjected, getting more anxious with each minute that passed. "John, are we taking that kid with us?"

"I dunno." John, feeling the strength start to drain out of Dean, tightened his hold on his son. "Dean, who's the kid?"

Dean sagged against his father, exhausted. "I dunno. Alec?" He kept his weary, worried eyes on Sam. "Mitch took him. Don't know where from."

Bobby blew out an impatient breath. "Doesn't matter. Can't leave him here. We'll let the cops sort him out."

The older hunter left Dean hanging onto his father and went over to the boy, pulling him, not roughly, to his feet. "Come on, kid. Time to go."

Furious, Alec jerked away from him, tears of rage and grief streaming down his face. "I'm not going anywhere with you! Fucking _murderers_!" he screamed at the boys.

_That_ woke Sam up. He took a step toward Alec, hand raised in supplication, but stopped when John grabbed his arm.

Pissed, Bobby gave Alec a sharp rap on the side of his head. Alec gaped at him in shock.

"_Enough_," Bobby said harshly. "That asshole on the floor stole you from your home. He fucked you over in every way there is. He ruined your damned life and right now you don't know up from down or right from wrong."

He pointed at Sam and Dean. "These two boys are the only reason you're gonna have a chance at a normal life. So keep your trap shut and do what you're told or we'll leave you with the corpses." An empty threat, of course, but the kid didn't know that.

Bobby stomped back to Sam and found the boy still staring, stricken, at Alec. "Sam, you with us?"

Sam's eyes weren't empty anymore, but filled with a terrible grief. "Bobby, I did it. _I_ killed them."

John gasped. Sam's words only stopped Bobby for a heartbeat.

"Don't think about that right now," the old man snapped. "I want you to help your father get your brother out of here."

"Bobby, I don't think – " John started.

"Yeah, you not thinking is what got us here," Bobby barked. "Sam, unless you want Dean spending the night handcuffed to a hospital bed, you'll get yourself together. We gotta take this boy and the other kids to the cops, then we'll head back to Jim's. We'll deal with this other shit later."

"Other kids?" Startled, Sam said, "Bobby, Mitch told me the kids were gone!"

Bobby gave him a hard grin. "Bastard lied. We found 'em while we were looking for you. They're downstairs with Caleb and Jim."

Sam eyes filled with relieved tears. He didn't even try to stop them as they spilled over.

Bobby laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's okay, kid. Now look, focus. We need to get out of here. You good?"

The smile that shone through Sam's tears was real. "I'm good."

With a satisfied nod, Bobby watched as Sam and John got Dean supported between them. The older boy had lost the little amount of strength and impetus he'd had before and was now half-conscious.

As they started out of the room, Bobby looked over his shoulder at Alec. "Move it!"

With a final heartbroken look at Mitch, Alec followed.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

_Savannah, Georgia_

_Police Department, 6__th__ Precinct_

_Lobby, Front Desk _

_((((()))))_

Police officer Tony Gillam put the phone down with a bitter shake of his head. Another asshole psychic claiming to have information about the missing kids.

Tony didn't believe in psychics. But he didn't disbelieve in them, either, not totally. His grandma had been one for feelings and visions. Growing up, she'd freaked him out couple of times with what she'd seen.

And that John Edward guy? It was just spooky, the way he came up with information about people's lives, things he couldn't possibly know.

However. Some of them were _definitely_ full of shit. And one of the shitty ones had bypassed the police with her so-called vision and gone directly to the parents. The asshole had told Beth Ann Gallagher's weeping mother that the body – her _daughter's_ body, mind you – would be found within a week near water.

Gillam had two daughters of his own. Just thinking about either of them being taken made his stomach clench. And if that psychic bitch had said something like that to his wife, about one of his girls? He'd have broken her lying jaw.

Putting aside the almost certain knowledge that the psychic had probably been right about Beth Ann being dead - if not about when and where she'd be found - Tony got back to work on the never-ending bane of his existence – paperwork.

The night was quiet. A few calls, transferred upstairs. Nothing memorable. Near the end of his shift, Tony heard the squeak of the lobby door and looked up to see four kids hesitating in the doorway.

Three of the kids – two boys and a girl – looked to range in age between nine and twelve. The older boy, shaggy and dark-haired, was fourteen, maybe fifteen.

"Can I help you?"

None of them said a word. They all looked scared. More than scared. Panic-stricken. Gillam started to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Come on in." The officer tried a reassuring smile. "Pretty chilly out there."

The three younger kids looked up at the teen and after a short pause, the boy nodded. Sticking together in a tight little clump, they came into the police station. The door swung shut behind them, leaving the cold night outside.

As the kids hesitantly approached his desk, the bad feeling in Tony Gillam's stomach intensified.

The kids looked like they'd been through a wringer. Their clothing was torn and dirty, their faces stained with tears; only the girl was wearing shoes. Looking closer, Tony saw bruises on the older boy's face and – was that _blood_ on his shirt?

"Son, are you hurt?" he asked, concerned.

The boy flinched. He started to move back towards the door and the girl started to cry, clutching at his shirt – damn it, that _was_ blood! – with frantic hands. "No, no! Don't leave!"

Looking uncomfortable, the boy gave Tony a wary glance, but relented and stayed in the little circle. Relieved, the other two boys crowded close, patting the girl consolingly.

"It's okay, Beth Ann," the youngest boy said, tears starting to trickle down his own face. "Please don't cry."

_Beth Ann?_

Stunned, Tony looked from face to face. Underneath the dirt and tears, the police officer suddenly recognized the faces of the three missing children.

Beth Ann Gallagher.

Billy Conray.

Kenny Garland.

Holy _crap_.

For some reason, the dipshit psychic came to mind and Gillam thought, _Found near water, my ass_.

His eyes went to the older boy.

Who the hell was _Alec_?

Beth Ann took a hitching breath, staring at Gillam with a face that tore at the big man's heart. "I want my mom."

"We'll get her for you, sweetheart," he said, feeling helpless in the face of such distress. He looked toward the older boy. "What's your name, son?"

Face shutting down, the boy looked away, toward the door, and Gillam said quickly, "That's okay. That's okay."

Trying not to rush them, but intensely aware of time ticking away, Gillam herded the little group over to some chairs next to the wall. He settled them, then went back to his desk and phoned up to missing persons.

"You guys need to get down here right away," he said, keeping his voice low. "The missing kids are with me."

There was a muffled squawk from the receiver.

"The missing kids are down here," Gillam repeated, eyes on the kids. The three younger ones were _all_ crying now and the older boy looked like he wasn't far behind.

"Beth Ann, Billy, Kenny, and another kid. Get the hell down here. Call the paramedics. And call their damned parents!"

SUPNSUPNSUPN


	10. Chapter 10

Dean cracked open an eyelid and stared groggily up. It took a minute before he recognized the watermarked ceiling as that of his and Sam's room at Jim's place in Blue Earth.

He felt like hammered crap. A dozen sharp-hooved centaurs were playing polo inside his skull, and he was pretty sure they'd pissed in his mouth before the game. Grimacing, he licked dry lips, then startled when a bottle of water appeared before him.

"About time you woke up, dude." Relieved, Sam held the bottle to Dean's lips. "Try not to move your head too much. And don't drink too fast."

Dean took a cautious sip, almost groaning with relief as the cool liquid filled his mouth and cooled his throat. Way too soon, Sam pulled the bottle away and Dean relaxed into the mattress again with an unhappy murmur.

"How's your head? Sorry. Dumb question. You want some aspirin?"

"Nah," Dean shifted cautiously, wincing at his various aches and pains. "Maybe in a couple minutes. You okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, _I'm_ fine. _You're_ the one that got shot."

"Take more than that to kill _me_." Dean scoffed weakly. "How'd we get back here anyway?"

"Dad. And Bobby and Jim."

"Great." Envisioning their father and the shit parade that was sure to land on his head, Dean asked resignedly, "How mad is he?"

Sam screwed the lid back onto the water bottle and set it back on the bedside table. "He hasn't said anything to me about it," he answered, voice level, sitting down on the bed beside his brother. "But he kinda has to be."

"Yeah. Hell. " Dean looked at Sam with a predatory gleam in his eye. "At least tell me that son of a bitch didn't get away."

Sam dropped his gaze. "Mitch is dead," he finally said. "And that blond guy, too."

"Good. Go, Dad!" Dean digested that, headache almost forgotten for the moment. "I don't remember anything after I went down. What happ– "

"The kids were still there, Dean," Sam said abruptly. "Mitch lied about them being gone already."

"Yeah? Well, that's _one_ good thing to come out of this clusterfuck. Guess we shoulda figured the prick was lyin', huh?" He shifted again and yawned, wincing.

"You want those aspirin now?"

"Only if I can't get anything stronger." Dean accepted the tablets with a grumpy, martyred sigh and washed them down with another sip of water. "What about the kid?"

"Alec." Sam's eyes darkened with regret, remembering the sullen hate in the boy's face. "We dropped him off at the police station with the other kids."

"More than he deserves." Dean scowled. "Little bastard almost got us killed."

"It wasn't his fault," Sam protested, surprised. "Dean, he's just a kid. Mitch – "

"Whatever. I guess." Something in Sam's expression pinged on Dean's little brother radar. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm _fine_." Flushing, Sam looked away from Dean's searching eyes.

"You don't look okay, nowhere near." Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're not freaking out about Dad killing those guys, are you?"

Sam shook his head, but it wasn't very convincing.

"Sam, he killed your friend! Shit, he sold all those kids into _slavery_, who knows how many. If anyone deserved a bullet – "

Sam flinched and stood up. "I'm gonna go. You should get some sleep."

"Sam!" Ignoring the stab of pain the movement cost him, Dean reached out and snagged his brother's sleeve. "Damn it, hold on!"

"Dean –" Sam looked away from the searching eyes, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Just drop it."

"Forget it. What's goin' on?"

"Nothing!"

Dean's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong, really wrong. Something way beyond his brother's usual emo bullshit. "Hell, no," he said flatly. "Spill."

Sam wearily rubbed his aching temple, briefly debating the pros and cons of wrenching free from Dean. He could do it, yeah. Dean wasn't at his best right now. But odds were the stubborn jackass would just haul himself out of bed and follow him.

"Fine." Reconciled to the inevitable, Sam sat back down on the bed. Dean warily released him, ready to latch on again if it looked like his brother was going to make a break for it.

After a minute or so of uncomfortable silence, Dean flapped his hand impatiently. "So, _talk_."

"Dad didn't kill Mitch," Sam said in a low voice.

"What?"

"Dad didn't kill Mitch," Sam repeated a little louder, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Oh," Dean said. "Bobby?"

Mouth tight, Sam shook his head.

Dean was starting to get a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Was it Jim?"

Sam finally looked up at him and the sheer misery in his eyes told Dean exactly what his brother couldn't say out loud.

"Oh, _hell_." Aghast, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed it, hard. "Damn it, Sammy, I'm _sorry_."

Sam let out a shaky breath and nodded.

"You didn't have any choice, kid."

"Didn't I?" Sam's voice was bleak.

"You could've let them kill you. And me. You could've let 'em keep stealing kids and selling them to perverts. Would that have been better?"

Sam shook his head violently. "No, I just – Dean, I _killed_ them." He gulped. "This isn't who I want to be."

"You saved me, Sammy. You saved those kids. You're a freakin' hero." Dean tried to sit up but his head gave a bitchy protest and he lay back, exhausted. "Listen, Sam, I get it. I wish like hell it hadn't gone down like that. But we screwed up. And the truth is, this shit's on me just as much as you."

"No, Dean," Sam protested, "You – " He stopped himself, seeing Dean's energy visibly flagging, the weariness plain in his face. "You need to sleep."

Dean didn't want to let this go, but he was at the end of his strength for now. They could talk again later. "Sleep. That sounds good." His eyes drifted shut. A few seconds later, already half asleep, they fluttered open again. Green eyes stared up anxiously. "Sammy? You okay?"

"I'm okay," Sam whispered, his fingers reaching out to touch his brother's. "Rest."

SUPNSUPNSUPN

It was just past ten p.m.

Unable to settle, Sam wandered downstairs and found his father, Bobby and Jim scattered around the living room, watching the evening news. A bottle of whiskey stood open on a low table.

Jim greeted Sam with a worn smile, but Bobby and John, glasses clutched tightly in their hands, stayed focused on the screen.

"How's your brother?" Jim asked.

"He was awake for a couple minutes," Sam answered, flicking a glance at his father, who was clearly ignoring him. "He's sleeping now."

"Good," Jim approved. "That's best for him, right now."

With an impatient growl, John turned up the television. Sam hunched his shoulders guiltily and, with a small nervous smile at Jim , found a chair in the back of the room and tried to focus on the television.

The evening news report was flashing back and forth between shots of a constipated-looking reporter and images of what Sam recognized as the warehouse they'd been at that afternoon. A score of police officers - uniformed, plain-clothes and evidence techs – pushed in and out of the building. Further maddening the scene, an agitated swarm of reporters buzzed outside a sawhorse barrier, screaming frantic questions at whatever unlucky soul happened to pass by.

This story began," the talking head on the news desk intoned pompously, "or, rather, ended, earlier today, when four children walked into a Savannah police substation."

The pictures of the three missing children appeared on the screen.

"Police tell us that Beth Ann Gallagher, William Conray, Kenneth Garland and one unidentified teenage boy were being held captive in a warehouse on East Bleeker," he continued. "The property owner told Channel 2 that they'd rented the building to a company called Sweet Home Mortgage. When police arrived there this afternoon, they found two dead bodies and evidence of significant criminal activity."

The screen flipped to a clip of two covered stretchers being taken from the building and loaded into waiting ambulances.

Sam felt his father's eyes on him, heavy with judgment, and willed himself to keep his eyes on the television.

"The dead men have been identified as Mitchell Elroy Jenner and Russell Edgars. Both men had extensive criminal records." Mug shots of a smiling Mitch and a scowling Blondie appeared on the screen. "It appears that the two deceased men, as well as another man found injured at the scene, were involved in a major child trafficking ring."

"Details of how the children came to escape are still sketchy, but we are told that between three and five armed men broke into the building and in the confrontation that followed, Jenner and Edgars were shot and killed."

"One of the men carried a key card for the Baymont Inn on Canebreak Road." The hotel appeared on the screen. "When police went there, they found Mrs. Althea Jenner, mother of Mitchell Jenner."

A clip of a stone-faced elderly woman in a wheelchair being escorted by two patrolmen across a hotel lobby appeared on the screen.

"Mrs. Jenner, along with her son, are apparently wanted in both Missouri and Arkansas for questioning in the disappearance of several children there."

It was Ma Jenner. Sam made a little sound in his throat, then choked it off quickly.

Bobby glanced over at him briefly, expression impenetrable, then got up and turned off the television. "I think that's enough. Time I got on the road."

"Sure you won't stay the night?" Jim rose, wincing as his knees creaked. "There's an extra bed in Caleb's room."

Bobby's mouth quirked in amusement. "Believe I'll pass." He shook Jim's hand. "Thanks."

"_We_ appreciate your coming." There was a decided emphasis on the word _\_ that no one in the room missed.

John said nothing, just stared blankly at the empty whiskey glass in his hand.

"Anytime." Bobby cast an irritated glance at John, then, making a sudden decision, walked over to Sam and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"You did good, son," he said gruffly. "Don't let anyone tell you different."

Startled, Sam nodded his thanks and then Bobby was gone, leaving Sam feeling emptier than ever, because whatever Bobby felt, it was obvious that John didn't feel the same. His father hadn't said one word to him since they got back to Blue Earth.

After walking Bobby out, Jim made a quick circuit of the vicarage, making sure that everything was locked up tight, then came back into the living room.

Dividing a worried look between the two Winchesters, he hesitated, then said diffidently, "I'm going to check on Caleb, then head on to bed."

"Night, Jim." John looked up, his face impassive. "We'll be pulling out in the morning. Got a job waiting in Indio."

"Oh," Jim said, surprised. "Well, if Dean's not ready to travel, he can certainly stay here until – "

"He'll be fine," John said with finality.

"All right, John." Jim looked at Sam. "Good night, Sam."

"Night, Jim," Sam said in a small voice.

With a final speaking glance at John, Jim trudged heavily upstairs.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Drowsing comfortably in bed, a radio playing softly on the bedside table, Caleb cracked open a lazy eye when Jim came into his room. Seeing the older man's troubled face, Caleb snorted in amusement.

"Don't tell me. Sam's on one side of the room, John's on the other and nobody's sayin' shit."

Jim didn't even bother ripping him up for cursing. "I don't know what to do." The pastor gestured helplessly. "That boy's hurting. He needs his father, but John - "

"John almost lost his boys today." Caleb snagged a cigarette from next to the radio, lit it up and drew in a lungful of smoke. "It scared the crap out of him and now he don't know if he wants to hug 'em or kick their asses for doing something so damned stupid."

Sighing, Jim listened at the door for sounds from downstairs but heard nothing. "These Winchesters are going to be the death of me," he muttered unhappily

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam held it together for as long as he could.

After Jim disappeared upstairs, John stood up, still without saying even _one_ word to him, and started for the stairs.

Sam said hesitantly, "Dad?"

John stopped and looked coldly at his youngest.

"Dad, please," Sam whispered helplessly. "I had to. I _had_ to."

John's lips tightened. Without a word, he continued out of the room.

Staring after him disbelievingly, Sam shuddered all over and buried his face in his hands.

Halfway up the stairs, John stopped and looked back into the living room. On seeing the undeniable misery in his son's slumped figure, he took a step back down, then stopped short.

_He deserves it_, a spiteful voice whispered. _He killed two men today._

He killed two monsters, John thought, guilt knifing into him. He saved lives.

_Which wouldn't have been necessary if he'd done as he was told and stayed at Jim's instead of running off half-cocked to Savannah_.

He did what he had to do.

_So why don't you tell him that? Why are you letting him believe that what he did today makes him a murderer?_

He has to learn discipline. He has to learn that there are consequences when you disobey an order.

The voice was silent.

There was a stifled sob from the living room.

The _hell_ with this, John thought explosively, starting back down the stairs. Sam had learned all about consequences today. He was a boy who'd done a man's job. A boy who would have to live with a man's regrets.

But right now, he was just John's son. And he needed his father.

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Sam straightened up when his father sat down heavily beside him, then squeaked in surprise when John pulled him into a strong embrace.

Confused, he tried to pull away but John held on tightly and Sam stilled, staring apprehensively into his father's face.

"Dad?"

"Son - this isn't what I wanted for you." John's voice was thick with repressed emotion. "Not for either of you."

Sam flinched. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sor –"

"No, Sam," John interrupted. "No. You did what you had to do." He put a big hand around the back of his son's neck and squeezed it comfortingly. "I should have said this before. I'm proud of you."

Stunned, Sam stared into his father's deep brown eyes and saw the truth reflected there.

Relieved beyond words, he hesitantly laid his head against his father's broad, comforting chest, gradually relaxing into the familiar, comforting smells of tobacco and gun oil, the faint scent of whiskey underlying it.

Soon he was trembling, the release from the tension of the last weeks almost too much to bear. He pushed his face into his father's chest and tears long denied started to fall. This time he didn't even try to stop them.


	11. EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

_Four days later . . . _

Dean grinned triumphantly across the breakfast table at his brother. "Told you I could eat more pancakes than you, squirt."

Sam rolled his eyes, not upset at all. "You could eat more pancakes than Bigfoot, dude."

Dean chortled and ran his last forkful of pancake around his plate, soaking up syrup. Stuffing it into his mouth, he flashed a messy, goofy grin at Sam, syrup and fried bread oozing out around the edges.

Sam mimed gagging, then laughed out loud when Dean picked up his plate and licked off the last of the syrup.

Their father entered the kitchen, Jim close behind him and Dean put the plate down with a clatter, wiping his mouth off quickly.

"Aren't you two done yet?" John said impatiently.

"Sorry, Dad." Sam hurriedly drained the last of his milk. "We're done."

"Yeah," Dean echoed. "Just gotta wash up."

"I'll take care of the dishes," Jim said, giving a fond pat to Dean's shoulder.

John frowned and shook his head. "I don't want to put any more work on you. The boys can clean up."

"I know they can," Jim said patiently, "but you need to get going. It's a long drive to Indio."

John's dark brows drew together stubbornly, and Jim sighed, exasperated. "John, that ghost isn't going to salt and burn itself. I think I can survive cleaning up my own kitchen."

John's brow cleared. "Thanks, Jim." He nodded to his sons. "Let's get going, boys. Daylight's wasting."

Following the Winchester family out of the kitchen, Jim chuckled inwardly. A hunt trumps dirty dishes, every single time.

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Jim had made up a big bag of road food for them. When Jim handed it into the Impala, Dean dug eagerly into it, crowing in delight when he unearthed a package of thick, meaty sandwiches.

Sam snatched it away and put it on the floor in the back seat. "Jeez, Dean, you just ate!"

"Yeah, but they're Jim's roast beef sandwiches," Dean said mournfully. "Roast_ beef!_" He made a quick move to go for the bag and squawked loudly when Sam blocked him again.

Jim watching affectionately as the two boys squabbled.

Neither John nor Sam had said anything, but he knew there'd been some kind of rapprochement. There'd also been a lot of shouting when Dean finally made his way downstairs, but after that storm had blown over, the air between the three Winchesters was a lot lighter.

John was back in his usual obsessive hunter/seeker mode, Dean was positively giddy now that the whole Mitch mess was behind them, and Sam was smiling again. It was true that the younger boy had had his moments of darkness over the last few days, but there was none of the soul-deep repressed rage from when he'd been hunting Mitch; none of the bone-crushing grief of that horrible day at the warehouse.

John climbed into his tall truck, started the ignition and blew a few short blasts on his horn. When he saw he had his sons' attention, he threw a wave at Jim and pulled away down the driveway.

"See ya, Jim!" Dean grinned and started the Impala, at the same time turning on the radio and blasting it high.

As the car started to move, Sam leaned hastily over his brother's lap, drawing a loud complaint from Dean, and poked his dark head out the window. "Bye, Jim!"

Jim raised his hand. "Good-bye, boys. Call me if you need me!"

"We will, preacher," Dean answered. "Shit, Sammy, get offa me before you smoosh something important!"

Sam grinned. Before he moved back to his side of the car, he said to Jim, "Thanks for everything. I'll call, okay?"

"Anytime, son."

At last, with a final chorus of shouted good-byes, the Impala pulled away from the rectory and after the big truck, which was rumbling impatiently at the bottom of the drive. Jim kept watching until both vehicles were out of sight.

Once they were gone, he went back inside.

The house was quiet again. He drew in a deep breath and stood for just a moment, enjoying the blessed silence, knowing it would only last until the next Ladies Auxiliary Meeting, or until the next hunter came limping to his door.

Then, leaving the wreck of a kitchen to itself for now, he went into his study and booted up his computer. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and opened it to scan over the list of college names written in Sam Winchester's sprawling handwriting.

With a heavy sigh, both for the bravery of the boy and the pain it would inevitably bring to his whole family, Jim typed in the website address for Stanford College and waited for the site to load.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

My thanks to everyone who read and supported this story. I loved writing it and it means a lot to me that so many people enjoyed it right along with me.


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